


Throughout Infinity

by flumen



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bat Brothers, Bat Family, Canon-Typical Violence, Damian Wayne is Robin, Damian Wayne time travels, Damian Wayne travels to the young justice universe, Dick Grayson is Batman, Dimension Travel, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Swearing, Minor Violence, Multiverse Travel, Time Travel, but Dick Grayson is also Robin, but er Bruce Wayne is also Batman, hooray!!, it's the young justice universe so the other bat bros are v background, the author has extremely limited knowledge, which i'm adding as a tag again ;), which is a tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2020-06-24 06:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 56,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19718083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flumen/pseuds/flumen
Summary: Damian Wayne did not anticipate going into the mission that he'd find himself in an alternate universe where his father is still Batman and there's an eerily similar (but thirteen year old) version of his partner/mentor/guardian/brother? who has somehow managed to find himself another pack of incompetent superhero associates just as intensely irritating as the ones Damian's familiar with and borderline suspects him of being an illegal Cadmus clone but......well......sometimes life just plays out like that. And he'll be damned if he doesn't find a way home to his actual partner before he manages to impale himself on his own cowl or something equally ridiculous. Honestly.A sort of Damian time travel fic except he finds himself in the universe just after season 1 of Young Justice. Misadventures ensue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok! So!  
> This is an experimental work since I've watched the Young Justice cartoon but not massively recently and I' hardly a religious reader of the Batman comics but I love these characters so much and think there's such potential for time-travel hi jinks here that I couldn't pass the idea up.  
> This is the first chapter and I won't be able to update for another week so I'm essentially tossing this out there and seeing what people think.  
> If I get something major or plot-wise wrong PLEASE TELL ME!! I will fix it immediately. If you disagree with my characterisation, I respect that entirely but just know I may not make the change you suggest. Consider it multiversal creative liberty if my version of a character doesn't fit with yours. Both can exist!  
> In which case, please enjoy!

Damian Wayne has an approach to life he’d like to charitably refer to as business-like. Todd refers to it as being an anal hardass. Drake refers to it as ‘slitting first, desecrating corpses later’ which is a typically inaccurate assessment; wasting the time to desecrate a corpse is the exact kind of thing Damian’s business-like attitude means he has no patience for. What a pointless expenditure of energy and resources which reeks of instability.

This disciplined way of combat and life where the only emotions to be felt on the field of battle are pride and controlled rage is one of the main reasons Damian had such difficulty adjusting to the role of Robin. Robin doesn’t just take down bad guys, he quips whilst doing it. His entire fighting style down from the cape to the smoke bombs is flashy and only a tedious erosion of instilled practicality has allowed Damian to adapt. But he _has_ adapted because he is a Wayne, an Al-Ghul and more than that, he _is_ Robin.

(And he’d be lying if he said the wise-cracks and explosions haven’t grown on him into something resembling fun).

Despite this, Damian still, at his core, is not willing to suffer fools or the convoluted plots they cook up for the sheer purpose of their deranged aesthetics. And the most deranged and convoluted aesthetic of all is that of the riddle.

“I am everywhere but you cannot see me. I am touching you but you cannot feel me. I reveal everything but have no substance to be revealed. What am I?”

“One well-aimed punch away from permanent brain damage.” Robin growls.

“Tut, tut, tut, little bird.” The Riddler giggles with a sticky spray of blood. “Wrong! Two more guesses. Two more guesses before…” He trails off teasingly. “Well, that’s a game for another time.”

“I’ll bring forward that playdate.” He offers, unsheathing a shiruken and making a move towards the chair the Riddler is strapped to.

“Robin.” Batman warns and with a sigh, Robin pre-emptively puts the blade away. “Although the comebacks are coming along nicely, no need for knives.” He cracks his knuckles. “Punches leave less of a scar.”

Just for a moment the Riddler’s bruised and bloodied face gulps and Robin feels a prideful rush of satisfaction. “No need for any more of that. It’s just a riddle, Batman, and you asked me a question.”

“For which I’d like an answer.” Batman growls. “So we’ll try again. Who are you working with and what is the purpose of that machine?”

The machine, Robin thinks darkly. He sends an unconscious glance to the glowing archway standing at the centre of the grimy warehouse in which they find themselves. He and Batman have been tracing its construction for weeks throughout Gotham, picking up on transfers of radioactive material and post-Cadmus alien tech. They don’t know what it’s for yet, but practically every crook in Gotham has now had a part in its construction. Whatever it is, it isn’t friendly.

How irritating that all their searching has led them to the most frustrating and incompetent villain in the whole city. It’s like executing a wild goose chase only to discover the goose was a tiresome duck all along.

“I _told_ you who I’m working for and you’ve still got two more guesses!” The Riddler says as if they are being ungrateful. “I am everywhere but you cannot see me, I am touching you-”

“We’ve heard the riddle!” Batman snaps. “I want a straight answer!”

“If I did that I’d undermine my whole theme!” The Riddler practically whines. “Cut me some slack, it isn’t even a trick. I am telling you who I’m working for, _if_ you can solve the riddle.” He shifts uncomfortably in his bindings, his bowler beginning to come askew. “Now if you could just loosen these pesky ropes a little-” Without another word, Batman and Robin turn to privately convene.

“Something isn’t right.” Robin says immediately. He’s been feeling uneasy since they arrived at this warehouse and found the machine sitting practically unguarded and tantalisingly simple to commandeer. Perhaps it was something about its eerie, pulsating glow. “This was too easy. The guards were practically amateurs and there was nowhere near the manpower anticipated for such a large scale operation.” As if to punctuate his point, he reaches out and kicks one of the unconscious guards in the side. He doesn’t so much as groan.

“You’re right.” Batman says instantly, with confidence and Robin feels his chest swell. “You wouldn’t trust Riddler with something as important as this. I don’t think he’s lying about his riddle being the answer to who he’s working for, the man’s a liability.”

“Tick tock!” He calls from across the room, head lolling mockingly. “Have you solved my riddle yet? Time’s running out!”

“Why wouldn’t there be more guards?” Robin questions again and he can tell Batman is thinking the same. They simultaneously reach the same jarring conclusion.

“Time’s up!” The Riddler cackles, throwing his head back so his hat tumbles to the ground. “Sorry about those last two guesses, boys, I suppose you’ll have to save them for a rainy day. If you live to see another, that is.”

Batman instantly pulls up the external security camera feed on his wrist computer and switches with the speed of a blink from image to image until they find what they’re looking for. Whilst Robin had been researching the warehouse and surrounding area, he had noticed that an incoming motorway route had been road-blocked by police and hadn’t thought much of it, assuming there had been an accident and considered it convenient blundering civilian traffic was less likely to get in their way (or in harm’s way, Robin amended, which was of course more important). He now realises being so dismissive was a deadly mistake.

Marching down the motorway is what Robin can only describe as a small army. Several hundred men armed to the teeth, dressed like SWAT teams in bullet proof vests, helmets and visors and amongst them some of Gotham’s most notorious villains. Robin catches a flash of red and green that can only be Poison Ivy, recognises the lumbering gait of Mr Freeze and his whole family of frost-related rogues and dozens of the commonplace criminal, scraped out of Gotham’s back alleys into something resembling a formidable force.

There are also armed vehicles adorned with machine guns powering across the concrete and every now and again Robin sees a glimpse of helicopter wing in the skies above.

Batman swears softly. “Quarter of a mile due North and moving fast. It was a trap.”

“This was my error.” Robin says softly, feeling mortification pool in his chest. Abruptly, he turns to the Riddler who is giggling with an even greater, more infuriating hysteria, smile threatening to tear his face in two. “What are the scum of Gotham doing convening on this spot? Speak, cretin!”

“I told you! I told you!” He chuckles and Robin aims a powerful punch at his jaw. He can’t muster any guilt when it knocks him out cold.

“He was our only source of information.” Batman chides, deceptively calm.

“He was delirious, and irritating me.” Robin spits. “Can we call for back up?”

“Red Robin, Oracle and Batgirl are on the other side of the city working a case and Red Hood isn’t exactly at my beck and call.”

“We have other allies.” Robin admits reluctantly. Normally he’d never be able to stomach grovelling to another hero for help, but these are extraordinary circumstances.

“No one’s within range.” Batman says, pressure building behind his voice. “It’s just you and me, Robin.”

Neither of them even bring up the possibility of fleeing. With so many villains in one place, a plot is about to be executed of dangerous magnitude. To leave now could condemn Gotham to its death.

“You and me.” Damian echoes before scowling at his own sentimentality, even as Grayson smiles. “Correct. More importantly, what can we do in the limited time presented to us?”

There’s a beat of silence in which Robin almost imagines he can hear the oncoming rumble of the enemy’s marching feet.

“The machine.” He decides. “That’s the catalyst to all of this. If we can disable it, that may debilitate whatever fiendish force is at work here.”

“If it were that simple, we wouldn’t have been allowed anywhere near it.” Batman reasons. “Instead we’ve been given prolonged access. Whoever created or commissioned it is confident in its security.” He grins and brings up his wrist computer again. “Let’s see how confident.”

Robin doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to seeing the Batman smile, but it’s always a welcome sight. No matter what the situation, it means things are about to start going their way.

“Robin, barricade the doors.” He orders as he begins inspecting the monitor of the machine. “That will buy us some time. Once that’s done, prepare to fight. You may have to defend me whilst I hack.” Suddenly his screen glows bright red and alarms begin to blare from somewhere up above. “You will definitely have to defend me whilst I hack.” He amends, mouth pressing into a tight, concentrated line.

Robin nods. He can’t do much but release hardening foam to secure the doors, and yet he knows first-hand of its effectiveness. He’s been trapped in it once before when he was in an argument with Drake that swiftly got out of hand (as most of their arguments seemed to). It was practically impenetrable from the outside or inside. Of course he had eventually manged to escape when Alfred had formulated the correct solvent and then there had been hell to pay but he doubts many of the soldiers are carrying highly corrosive substances. Or he sincerely hopes not.

He returns to Batman’s side and pulls out his escrima sticks. He wishes he could exchange them for swords but his partner had insisted on the less destructive weapon, at the time posing it as a challenge to make a gentler form of combat equally devastating. Robin had succeeded, naturally, but an exhilarated, anxious part of him yearns for the bloodlust and effortless cut of steel. Nothing makes him feel safer but nothing also makes him feel less like Batman’s partner, less like a hero.

“I’m making progress.” Batman informs him. “Just… not fast enough. The surface tech I can recognise, but it’s as if at its core this machine is from a different planet. It’s reacting in entirely unpredictable ways.”

“We could always just blow it up.” Robin suggests innocently.

“Radioactive material.” Batman says shortly. “Unless we want Gotham to be the next Chernobyl, we can’t risk it.”

Robin shifts from foot to foot, tightening his grip on his sticks. He’s now certain he can hear the army’s approach. He’s not deluded enough to believe their only weapons are the ones coming up on the camera feed. With so many super villains involved, who could tell the extent of their arsenal?

The dynamic duo will prevail, he insists internally. He will not allow the scum of Gotham to overcome them, especially as it was his mistake to overlook the blockade. He feels a surge of mingling guilt and fury. He will not put them at risk again.

“Yes.” Batman hisses and Robin turns to see the words ‘Access Granted’ emblazoned in bold print across the machine’s monitor. “Cadmus tech. Always overlooks a back door. Now all we need to do is disable it-”

It is at this moment that a force like a battering ram shudders the warehouse doors. Robin curses darkly. The foam holds, but only for the moment. He breathes deeply in anticipation and feels his limbs twitch with energy. Batman has turned coldly silent as he sets himself entirely to the task at hand, switching directly to the machine’s monitor and ploughing through its system.

“It can’t be disabled!” He growls as a second attack is levelled at this doors and cracks splinter through the foam like lightning strikes. “There’s no override! Who builds a machine this complex with no override?”

“In which case, create an override!” Robin says furiously.

He lets a shuddering sigh out through his nose and begins pounding at the monitor again. With a rattling explosion, the doors are blasted open. Robin does not hesitate. He charges.

He has knocked out two men before the rest even have time to aim their weapons and then dedicates his attack to causing as much havoc as possible. He never focuses on one individual too long to ensure their focus remains on him. A few filter past but out of the corner of his eye he sees Batman make short work of them. For a few precious seconds, the battle appears to be on their side.

Then Mr Freeze appears in the doorway and Robin has to retreat to avoid being encapsulated in ice. The enemy gains ground. Calling on an adrenaline-fueled reservoir of strength, Robin leaps up and impales a birdarang into his helmet, causing him to stagger backwards as fractures appear in the glass. However, as soon as one super villain falls back two more appear in its place with Poison Ivy rising above the soldiers enwreathed in vines and Clayface blundering through his own men to strike at Robin with his hammer fists.

These are some notable heavy-hitters absent, Robin notices, and those who are present are those most easily bought and manipulated. There must be a mastermind as the Riddler had alluded. But who?

Eventually, as the flood of armed men only continues to swell, Robin retreats back to Batman, ignoring the super villains’ taunts to play. “Progress?” He demands. All he receives is a grim shake of the head in return as Batman turns from the infernal machine and raises his own fists.

“No.” He says, the gruff, dangerous tone of voice every inch Robin’s Batman. “Guess we’ll be fighting conventional.”

And they charge. Robin loses himself in the crack of bone and the constant ache of his fists and feet as he strikes, dodges and ducks in and out of the soldiers. The soldiers either fire sparingly or in all directions and again Robin feels himself struck by how amateur the force seems, contributing to the idea that this is but one patch of a bigger picture. Still, even Batman and Robin cannot dodge the bullets indefinitely.

It is Batman who is shot first and Robin feels him slump momentarily by his feet, realises the bullet imbedded in his partner’s torso would have struck his back. His rage flares anew as Batman stumbles to his feet and he roars “Cowards! Shoot for the head or don’t shoot at all!”

“Don’t give them advice!” Batman says but there’s no anger behind his voice, only a wince. Robin does not know if the bullet was stopped by the Kevlar. The uncertainty alone is enough to make him cry out with fury and he takes down the next soldier with a particularly savage blow to the head.

They fight on for a further minute at least, although it seems to both stretch out endlessly and pass in the blink of an eye. Robin can feel Batman lagging, his punches becoming sloppier, his aim deteriorating and is aware he is not faring much better. They can’t keep this up, as much as it grieves him to admit it, and as many soldier as they take out, more only emerge with fresh weapons, an inexorable supply.

It ends with a gun pressed to Batman’s temple and Robin backed up to the machine. His breath comes in harsh rattles and his whole body seems torn between exhaustion and a self-supporting ire. He is bleeding in various places, the blood soaking through his suit and, now that he has a moment to pause, the bruises and cuts ache and sting like pernicious insects.

Curse Grayson and his recklessness, Robin internally seethes. He cannot seem to go five seconds without putting himself in some form of mortal peril. Despite this, seeing the weapon against his partner’s head makes something else emerge in Robin’s stomach, something he tries immediately to quash but arises sickeningly once more: fear.

“Surrender, Robin.” Poison Ivy, says a honeyed laugh on the tip of her tongue. “Or Batsy’s brains go boom.” She clicks her fingers and the soldier holding the gun thrusts it more insistently into Batman’s skull. Robin’s breath hitches.

He has two options. One: surrender and go against every lesson and principle that both his training as an assassin and hero have instilled in him. Or two: turn the tables. Damian Wayne has an approach to life he’d describe as business-like. And the first rule of business is you never make a deal on someone else’s terms.

He raises his hands, an escrima stick in one and a birdarang in the other as if to drop them. Instead he brings the stick down hard on the machine’s monitor and throws the birdarang straight at Poison Ivy.

She ducks, which is thankful because Robin doesn’t really want her death on his conscience and Batman takes the opportunity to wrestle the gun out of the bewildered soldier’s hand. With one sharp jab, he’s knocked out.

However, the relief Robin had felt at the release of his partner immediately sours as the machine begins to hum with the force of a thousand bees. Its glow intensifies and as Robin tries to move away, he realises it is beginning to radiate a force that is _pulling him in_.

“Batman!” He yells but Batman is battling Two-Face and when he turns to look at him, he only narrowly avoids a punch to the jaw. Still, Robin recognises that look on his partner’s face and in the meantime fires a grappling hook that connects to the rafters and anchors him, even as the pull of the machine strengthens.

The archway begins to glow with pure white light that bathes Robin’s legs in a warm, dissociative sensation that scares him more than any pain could. He swallows down the panic and watches as Batman knocks out Two-Face only to almost receive a blast to the face from one of Mr Freeze’s cronies (Kid Icicle? Junior Icicle?).

“Hold on, Robin!” He yells and Robin resists the urge to yell back that there’s not much else he can do. That would be childish, sarcastic and Grayson would be delighted. _Batman_ , Batman would be delighted. He re-secures his grip on the grappling hook as it begins to slip…

Snap!

For a moment, time appears suspended and Robin becomes entirely weightless. Poison Ivy waves at him, a cruel smile across her ruby lips, the ends of the grappling robe held in each hand, torn apart by one of her thorns. The sensationless feeling extends to Robin’s torso. He watches Batman’s head fly up too late, a hand reach out uselessly and his mouth silently form the word ‘No!’ as bright light encroaches on Robin’s vision.

His own mouth tries to create a name, his partner’s or his guardian’s he cannot tell, as the machine swallows him up and everything turns to white.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian finds himself in a place very similar but somehow also very different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The promised chapter 2! I'll get on writing chapter 3 as soon as possible but once again WARNING updates will be sporadic for a while  
> I appreciate the patience :)

Damian feels as if he’s dissolving. His entire body is numb and aflame at the same time and he can’t conjugate a single thought except that what is happening to him is wrong, unbearable even and that he wants it to stop, needs it to stop. Nothing in his training could have prepared him for this. He falls into an all-pervasive panic as he travels through the blinding void, his heart aching for God or Batman or Grayson or anyone to let him out as every nerve in him rejects and sickens. He has never felt so incongruous, shattered or mortal.

And then as soon as it begins, his journey is over and Damian find himself stumbling gracelessly onto solid land. He gasps for breath as his body is returned to his control and he feels his corporeal form click back into place with the world around him. Then he blacks out.

Dimly he becomes aware of muffled voices like lighthouses on a distant shore. In a moment of childlike weakness, Damian groans and curls up on his side, body still throbbing from the cuts and bruises and now his disconcerting travel through the ether. Sluggishly, his ears sharpen and he begins to think he recognises a voice amongst the muddied words.

“No I don’t ‘know him’, KF.” There’s something off in the timbre or pitch, Damian can’t quite tell, but he recognises that voice and automatically feels his troubled mind soothe. Perhaps all he’d received was a nasty shock and if he opens his eyes, it’ll be him and Batman back home in the Cave.

“Who knows what Batman knows.” It continues somewhat bitterly and Damian becomes certain.

“G-Grayson?” He mumbles, beginning to squint up only for black spots to reign throughout most of his vision. Abruptly there’s a pounding of feet and a figure looms over him.

“What did you say?” It hisses and the sudden acidity in tone jolts Damian awake.

Instinctively his body reacts: he aims for a deadly pressure point in his aggressor’s neck. Rapidly he pulls back, but not rapidly enough. Damian’s feet lash out and connect hard with his chest, sending him reeling. He leaps upright, draws his escrima sticks and takes several hasty steps back, before regaining his balance and sliding smoothly into a defensive crouch. The sight that greets him is so completely jarring, Damian almost loses consciousness again.

They are standing in a warehouse, practically identical to the one Damian was in before and behind him is a machine, similarly identical to the one he just travelled through. However crouched across from him in an almost identical stance to his own, as if he’s looking into a mirror, is Robin. Or, at least, a teenage boy in a Robin costume. His hand hovers above his utility belt and his mouth is marred into a frown. Damian feels a dizzying flood of rage as he realises the look on this other Robin’s face must reflect his own: he’s looking at him as if Damian is the imposter. Behind him stands a gaggle of gormless-looking teenagers all in costume. He recognises some outfits and insignia but others are completely foreign.

“Stay back, charlatan!” He says, raising his weapons in warning.

“Charlatan!” Splutters the boy in the garish Flash tribute. “Rob, you think he’s a clone?”

“No.” The other Robin says softly and the single word strikes Damian so hard, he almost staggers back. “But that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. Who are you, kid? Honest answers only.”

“Maybe I should…” Begins the green girl Damian now assumes is a Martian, but he cuts her off.

“NO!” He yells with such authority he can see her physically back down. “Do not come anywhere near my mind. This is-” Horrified, he finds himself at a loss for words.

“He looks scared and wounded.” The tall Atlantean says, slight sympathy colouring his voice. “Perhaps we should make ourselves appear less threatening.” He lowers his weapons and the others follow suite, all except the other Robin. He continues to scan Damian piercingly, understandably incapable of relaxing. It is this intense assessment that forces Damian to get a grip. He cannot imagine the pathetic state he must be presenting. There are procedures in place for such scenarios as this, and Damian is an expert at following procedure.

Slowly, so as to not arouse violence, he puts his own weapons away. “What is the date?” He asks, keeping his voice as steady as possible.

“The date?” A girl Damian does not recognise whatsoever repeats sceptically. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I am extremely serious.” He responds icily and there’s a charged pause.

“It’s not going to do any harm telling him the date.” A boy eerily resembling a beefier version of Drake’s moronic (boy)friend huffs and he tells him.

Damian frowns. The date is different but not substantially enough to equate to time travel. Not if their Robin is who he thinks he is and Damian doesn’t think he could mistake that glare. It’s chilling to have it turned on him with all its force of animosity and suspicion and yet utterly unmistakeable.

“You didn’t answer my original question.” Robin says, snapping Damian from his reverie. “Who are you? Because I don’t remember Batman picking up any failsafe Robins recently and certainly none who would try and _kill_ the original.”

Damian bristles. “I _am_ Robin.” He snaps before he can think about it, the retort familiar on his tongue and then curses his instincts as the whole sidekick squad looks at him with more scrutiny.

“Ok, so he’s crazy.” The mini Flash snorts.

“Or delusional.” The archer agrees, nocking an arrow. “Either way, he’s coming with us.”

“To Batman?” Damian says, considering the implications of where and when he is. Logically it would be a productive first step towards his safe return out of whatever inter-dimensional rabbit hole he’s fallen down, but personally he wonders whether facing his father would only generate more conflict. Grayson will undoubtedly find a way to get him home from his side, so it’s feasible there’s no need to involve this Bruce Wayne at all. If he managed to escape the villains he was battling when Damian left, that is… but of course he would. He’s _Batman_. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

“Luckily it doesn’t matter what you think.” The other Robin says with a wicked grin, one which Damian knows mean chaos is about to ensue.

“We’ll see about that.” Damian responds with a grin of his own, rising to the challenge.

“Now, now…” The Martian giggles nervously. “Er-Robin, we don’t want to harm you-”

And because she’s displaying weakness, Damian attacks her first. Luckily she’s too thrown off guard to use her telekinesis as he hurls himself at her, knocking her off her feet, kneeing her in the stomach and then kicking her aside like a ragdoll. It’s ruthless and Damian feels a flicker of conscience, one which has begun smouldering more frequently under Grayson’s tutelage, at the sight of her crumpled form. Unfortunately his escape is more important and he begins to race towards the doors.

Budget Flash is on him immediately and Damian’s humility gives way to frustration when he realises he has his doppelgänger’s powers. “Hey!” He yells as he speeds to block the doors. “Rip-off Robin! You can’t do that to Miss M and get away with it!” 

“Can’t I?” He snipes back, lodging a punch Flash Jr only just dodges. He thinks this must be Wally West, one of Grayson’s old Titans friends who he does have a memory of being some sort of Flash sidekick before taking up his mentor’s mantle and… dying. How unfortunate. Still, Damian wouldn’t mind him being a little more corpse-like as he manages to duck a second blow.

With a roar of frustration, he crushes his escrima stick against his head, slams the other one into his ribs and sweeps his legs out from underneath him. He too crashes to the ground. Can’t use super speed if you can’t use your feet.

Instinctively Damian feels someone coming up from behind him, and without looking back, hurls an exploding birdarang in their direction. There’s a bang and two cries, one male, one female. Damian doesn’t look back to see who it is but he’d guess it’s the archer and Superboy who have taken a spill. Adolescent Flash begins to groan and rise and although the doors are so close, Damian knows he’ll be caught if he makes for them. Instead he unleashes a smoke bomb and disappears.

“Where’d he go?” Comes a hoarse cry, the archer.

“No clue.” Child Flash grunts. “But the little blighter’s quick.”

Damian gives a small prideful –tt- from up in the rafters at the inadvertent praise.

“Spread out and attempt to find him.” The Atlantean says. “Be on guard. And where on earth is Robin?”

Damian is just beginning to think the same thing when a harsh whisper comes from his ear. “Gotcha.”

He only spins around fast enough that the blow to his head is glancing but blocks the next two punches with his own hands, leading to a dangerous aerial grapple between him and Robin 50 feet up on a flimsy wooden beam. For a breathless moment the wood groans. Robin’s jaw is taught with effort and Damian can tell he’s pushing with all his might but neither one of them is stronger than the other. This is foolishly dangerous, Damian thinks as the wood gives another awesome creak and escape be damned he has to get them both out of here.

Suddenly it feels like they’re Batman and Robin again and this is just another suicide mission with a set of odds to prove wrong.

“I shouldn’t have underestimated you.” He says as softly as he can, although his harsh breathing somewhat ruins the effect. “You’re Robin. Of course you’d know my moves before I make them.”

“Robin!” Somebody cries from down below, perhaps the Atlantean. “Get down from there.”

Robin goes to kick his legs but Damian darts back, grunting against the extra strain on his arms as is assailant pushes ever harder. “This is beneath you!” He gasps. “Let me go or we both fall!”

This was the wrong thing to say. “I _am_ Robin.” Grayson heaves. “I won’t fall.”

There’s a heart-rending crack. Damian watches the wood beneath his partner splinter. “No.” He says. “You won’t.”

The beam beneath Robin gives way but Damian leaps back, pulling him with him. It’s not enough. Robin’s boot slips and he steps back into thin air. He makes a noise resembling a yelp and there are cries of horror from below them. Damian pays these no heed. Instead he tightens his grips on Robin’s hand and lets his momentum carry him. The wind is knocked out of him as he folds like a deck chair, his stomach hitting the solid beam but he grits his teeth and clings on, both to Robin and their lifeline.

“You won’t fall!” He repeats as Robin instinctively flails. He’s suspended in mid-air, held aloft only by Damian’s quivering arm, and understandably begins to panic. Damian feels his grip begin to slip and desperately scans the ground beneath him, spotting a beacon flash of red and yellow. “Or at least, not unless I want you to. Kid Flash!”

He lets go. Robin screams for a total of two seconds before landing in the ready arms of the resident speedster and Damian swallows down the tension thickly. He’s safe and even gazing up at Damian with something other than mistrust and hatred. The victory is short-lived, however, as seconds later he feels his limbs seize up and his body lift from the beam to hover above the teenage superheroes.

The Martian, Miss M he catalogues, stands beneath him, arm aloft and eyes glowing poisonous green. She’s looking far less conciliatory than before. Beside her stands the tall Atlantean who appears to be the leader of this troupe from the way the others gather behind him to gape at Damian like an exhibit in a zoo, albeit with more animosity as they rub their wounds. That’s strange, he notes, as even Robin hangs back in his wake. He can’t recall a time his mentor hasn’t been the leader of any team he’s part of.

“Good work Miss M, Kid Flash.” The Atlantean says. “And you, _Robin_ ,” He says the name as if he doesn’t trust it in his mouth. “Despite that display, I am willing to hold out judgement on declaring you an enemy. Will you now co-operate, or must we knock you out?”

Damian considers, brushing aside the irritation at the boy’s patronising tone. Now that he’s in the grip of telekinesis, escape is highly improbable. He feels his stomach sink but bears himself against the despair. Being taken to Batman is not the worst thing that could happen. In fact, he should probably be relieved he did not tumble out of the machine into the open arms of another hostile armed force. And if Grayson is Robin, he may prove an ally, whether he’s from the past or some other entirely infeasible explanation. With two versions of his partner working for his return, hopefully Damian can get back in half the time.

Back to his Batman. Back home.

“Acceptable.” He grinds out eventually. “On one condition.”

“Yes?” Robin asks hesitantly, sounding far less sure of himself and Damian than when they first met.

“You bring that machine with you.” He says, referring to the damnable device that transported him into this mess. “It may be my only way back.”

“Back where?” The archer demands.

Damian considers this momentarily. “I’m not sure yet. We’ll have to see.”

They confer briefly and whilst they do, he can feel his heart pound in his chest. He has put himself entirely at these _children’s_ mercy. If they choose to consider the machine a security risk, as Damian would probably do in such a situation, and it falls into enemy hands he can kiss his chances of recreating his journey goodbye.

Finally they turn back to him. “Your terms are accepted.” The Atlantean says. “Miss Martian will lower you to the ground and we will handcuff you. Then your paralysis will be reversed. We will blindfold you and lead you to our ship. Any sign of struggle and you will be neutralised.”

“I will not struggle.” Damian promises.

“Oh, gee couldn’t you have said so earlier?” Kid Flash huffs, rubbing his ribs mulishly.

“That was self-defence in a foreign environment. I will not struggle.” He senses a sudden light pressure on his consciousness and feels his muscles violently contract in a helpless attempt to struggle. “What did I say? Tell your Martain not to touch my mind!”

“ _Your_ Martain?” Miss M echoes, scandalised, and the pressure only increases.

“Miss M!” Robin snaps. “Quit it.” He turns to Damian and his expression is indiscernible. “Believe me, I don’t trust him either. Still, that doesn’t give us an excuse to go recklessly tracking through his mind.”

“Some secrets should be kept.” Damian says through gritted teeth.

Robin nods, and then looks at the Martain beseechingly. Stiffly, she desists and Damian feels himself drift to the ground. Superboy, Damian now sees and recognises the symbol on his unprofessional t-shirt, locks his hands together with a glowing set of cuffs and then rips a shred off of said inappropriate clothing to use as a makeshift blindfold.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Kid Flash says condescendingly.

“Rot in hell.”

There’s an audible gulp. “Yep, he can’t see.”

“Before we go any further, may I know who I’m dealing with?” Damian says, feeling uncommonly vulnerable and more than a little apprehensive. Normally that translates to a defensive anger. He must make sure to keep a reign on that if he doesn’t want to kill and/or wound the egos of any of this Robin’s little superhero friends, even if he has trouble getting along with Grayson’s bumbling stooge associates at the best of times. “Are you the Teen Titans?” He guesses.

There’s an incredulous snort. “Teen Titans? What kind of pretentious name is that?”

“Alliteration?” Another voice agrees. “That’s just tacky.”

“We aren’t the Teen Titans, whoever they are.” Robin pipes up. Damian can practically see his smile, even through the fabric. “Kid, you’re in the hands of the Young Justice League, and I dibs _not_ explaining that to Batman.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian is brought aboard the Bioship. He and Robin have a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this one is slightly shorter. I wanted to make sure I could upload something. The action really picks up next chapter!

Damian is blindfolded when they lead him to the bioship, but that does not mean he is any less acutely aware of his surroundings. He feels the iron grip of Superboy’s hands around his arm and the fickle contact of the metal handcuffs on his wrists. He can hear the swishing sound of the archer’s bow against her side and the rhythm of Robin’s light step. He can also hear snippets of Kid Flash’s inane prattling, even though he is violently hushed whenever he picks up volume as if his eager description of the sandwich awaiting him at their top-secret base will somehow aid Damian’s escape.

He feels the sting of his wounds. He tastes the salt of sweat on his upper lip. His lack of vision may have enhanced his other senses, but the weakness still writhes beneath his skin like something alive. He is in the presence of multiple meta-humans, including a Martian who may have committed the folly of ceasing to paralyse him but has the power to put him in a permanent coma if she so desires. His powerlessness is not only grating, it’s agonising.

He is not afraid, he assures himself. Grayson would not let any harm befall him at the hands of his teammates.

 _But this isn’t your Grayson_ , a tiny, evil voice whispers against his skull and it takes all his mental power to quash it.

He is aware he has entered a Martian bioship as soon as one foot hits the floor. It is thrumming with life, a feeling he recognises from entering his Martian Manhunter’s similar craft. At the same time he knows this information is of little importance to him, as he cannot interface with its intelligence. Nevertheless it is somewhat reassuring that he is in a vessel he at least recognises and does something to improve the credibility of this alleged Martian superhero.

“Stay there.” Superboy grunts and Damian is roughly deposited onto a seat, feeling a belt wrap itself around his chest like a harsh embrace. It’s so alive, Damian marvels once more; he has, after all, always had a soft-spot for non-human life. However, he doesn’t grant himself the idle comfort of sitting and marvelling. Immediately he begins to strain his ears to listen in on his captors’ conversation and their rough, heated exchange would make easy listening even without Damian’s perfect audio faculties.

“The machine?” The Atlantean asks, barely bothering to hush his voice, forcing Damian to hold back a tut at the incompetence.

“Secured in the hull.” The Martian reports but when she next speaks, Damian detects something gentler in her tone. “Kaldur… I feel bad about tying him up like that. He’s just a child and he can’t be any older than Robin- I mean _our_ Robin. I think the Bioship feels the same way.”

“He almost knocked you out, M’gann.” Says the archer with both sympathy and incredulity. “And he might have murdered _our_ Robin. You want to what- let him loose?”

“I agree with Artemis.” Robin’s voice chimes in plainly. “Argue he’s just a kid all you want, he’s a kid trained to kill.”

“He saved your life.” M’gann reminds him, not unkindly but it’s enough to induce an uncomfortable silence.

“Tell you what I feel bad about.” Kid Flash says eventually, breaking it. “That freaky machine he made us take on board. What’s up with that?”

“It does bear a creepy resemblance to something Cadmus might have created.” Superboy says grimly. “Even if we know it can’t be them.” He pauses, perhaps waiting for someone to agree, but they don’t. “I don’t think we should have brought it with us.” He finishes.

“Yeah, plus those files you dug up showed it was constructed with high levels of radioactive material such as plutonium and uranium.” Kid Flash agrees. “What if we’re carrying an atom bomb right into the open arms of the Justice League?”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” M’gann says worriedly.

“Well what if it's his only way back?” Robin cuts through exasperatedly and the others fall silent. “Would you rather he stayed? No.” Damian imagines him shaking his head. “We had to take the machine. B’s dealt with situations like this before.”

“Situations like what?” The Atlantean, Kaldur, says only a little impatiently. “Robin if you know something more about our captive, I’d appreciate you informing the team. It’s never wise to keep secrets from our teammates.”

“I don’t _know_ anything.” Robin says through gritted teeth. “I have theories, that’s all.” With a rustle, Damian hears him rise from his seat and realises he’s making his way towards him. He schools his expression into one empty of emotion.

“Grayson.” He acknowledges softly as Robin sits next to him. He hears the sharp intake of breath at the name.

“So that _is_ what you said.” He murmurs tensely, almost to himself. When he continues his tone is loaded with apprehension and more than a little hostility. “What’s the significance of that name?”

Damian restrains the urge to roll his eyes. Robin wouldn’t be able to see them anyway. “You needn’t play dim with me, Grayson, you’re half-witted enough as it is.”

He receives a violent shushing. “Keep your voice down, Superboy has super-hearing.”

“And a brain made of brick.” Damian says derisively. “Even if he were paying attention, he wouldn’t understand what we were saying.”

“How do you know that name?” Robin demands, tactfully ignoring the insult to his teammate. “Who are you?”

Damian considers. He wants Grayson on his side. He may even need Grayson on his side after so long working alongside him. Without him, he’s afraid he may lose sight of how to be the hero; that he might devolve into the ruthless assassin once more. It’s so much easier to be Robin fighting alongside his Batman.

However, although they’re the same person, this Grayson is younger and inexperienced. More than that, he feels threatened by Damian’s presence. He isn’t Batman yet, he’s only Robin and Damian knows all too well how defensive he’ll be to maintain that position. He himself has had to fend off accusations that he’s not really Robin, not really Gotham’s Dark Squire and certainly not the Boy Wonder. More than that, he’s all too familiar with the threat of a usurper. Drake may nowadays insist he has no designs for the identity of Robin but Damian has always wondered if that could change.

Not feared. He has too much pride to fear. If Drake did unwisely decide one day he wanted to be Robin again, Damian would not hesitate to reissue his death threat, Grayson be damned. He’d do anything to defend his claim to the identity because he now hates who he’d be without it.

So what if this Grayson feels the same?

“I am not your replacement.” Damian says carefully after a contemplative pause.

“As if you could be.” Robin snaps but there’s a definite undertone of intrigue.

“Neither am I a clone, which I’m sure you’ve already deduced.” Damian continues. “Although why you would even consider that theory I don’t know.”

“Well, we’ve been a little _over_ whelmed recently.” Robin grumbles and Damian is once again sure he’s not in the direct past. He’s pretty sure his Grayson would have gushed for hours about facing an epidemic of clones. “And believe me, I barely considered it.”

“Wise.” Damian agrees. “For one thing, I am vastly superior to you in every way. Genetic science has gone far, but not so far as to turn your subpar DNA into mine.”

There’s a stony pause and he realises Robin is probably fuming at the insult. It’s such an out of character reaction that Damian is, for a moment, stunned. Up until now Grayson has always taken all his specious boasting and insults as just that: superficial and borderline affectionate. Their partnership had been founded on a deep, unspoken respect. He is now harshly reminded that such respect did not develop overnight. It had taken the better part of two years to reach their implicit fellowship and now he’s found himself back at square one.

“That was poor taste.” He admits. “What I meant was that we are very different, both externally and internally.”

Robin grunts in acknowledgment. “Agreed. So I’ll ask again. Who are you?”

For a moment the growl in his voice is so painfully reminiscent of Batman, Damian is tempted to spill out his secrets like a mission report, let them overflow onto the floor and hope Grayson can do something to make it all work out. Instead he purses his lips.

“For now all you need know is that I’m not your enemy. I intend to explain to Batman in more detail but I need to choose what is and isn’t pertinent for him to know and I don’t intend to repeat myself.”

“You’re not my enemy.” Robin echoes cynically. “After you attacked my teammates and claimed to be me?”

“I claimed I was Robin.” Damian says. “Not you. There’s a difference.”

“No there isn’t!” Robin insists. “I am Robin! We’re not mutually exclusive. He’s nothing without me and I’m-”

He cuts himself off but Damian doesn’t need to hear him finish. He knows the words.

“I’m nothing without him.” He says quietly and he can feel the raw communion in the air between them as the words ring true.

“Who-?” Robin is just beginning again when there’s the sudden brash beep of the communicator and like a bird taking flight, he’s gone, a faint swish of his cape against Damian’s leg the only evidence he was there at all.

Damian feels himself lean forward and it’s with a sense of unshakeable dread and a far less understandable pain that he recognises the voice across the intercom.

“This is Batman contacting the team. What is your status?”

“Batman.” Kaldur says and there’s a noticeable relief in his tone. “We’ve been attempting contact. We’re all safe and accounted for-”

“Who is he?” The audio takes on a graver, angrier quality and Damian realises it must be a video call. This means Batman has already seen him.

Purposefully he turns his blindfolded head towards the sound of the monitor and gives the Batman what he hopes is a severe but non-threatening look. He imagines the second aspect may be harder to discern. Todd had once told him that when he drew, he looked like he planned to murder the paper.

“We found him at the warehouse in East Gotham.” Robin pipes up. “Along with a machine of possibly alien or Cadmus origin. We’ve got it on board-”

“I explicitly forbade you from pursuing that case.” There’s a frosty silence.

“I know.” Robin says eventually. “But that’s not important right now. Batman, he’s calling himself Robin.”

Another silence. Damian longs to see even the faintest sliver of what emotions are flickering beneath the cowl.

“Bring him in.” Batman says at last and the audio cuts out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin arrives at the team base and comes face to face with this universe's Batman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: In this chapter Damian refers to Black Canary's job as a therapist as 'nonsense'. This is not my personal belief in any way shape or form, but just the opinion this emotionally constipated pre-teen has formed for himself. She obviously proves him wrong pretty quick.  
> Enjoy and leave a comment to keep me motivated (read: pressured).

Everything about this Batman is a stab in the chest.

Damian had remained blindfolded for another excruciating 30 minutes whilst they flew to what must be this team’s base of operations. He knew they couldn’t be travelling to the Watchtower because although the Martian vessel was fast and hardy, he would have felt the up-thrust and G-force as they exited the atmosphere. Instead the rest of the journey was silent and felt practically motionless as the tension between them all stagnated in the air.

“We’re here.” Kaldur had said quietly when they touched down and Damian had felt the belt around him release, only to be instantly replaced by another tight grip on his bicep. He was yanked to his feet and marched from the vessel, the hiss of the doors as they released them as low and ominous as a snake.

As soon as he touched down on solid ground, felt that the air was still and contained, Damian yanked his arm from his captor’s grip, objecting to being led like cattle. He is growing weary of these plays at maturity from heroes who are still fresh out of civilian garb, who mimic their mentors like children playing dress up. He hopes he’ll soon be rid of them and can work with those with experience rather than suffer any longer in the throes of their teenage angst.

He told them so and wished he could relish the affronted looks on their faces. (It doesn’t occur to him that this, in itself, is childish.)

Still, they relinquished their grip and eventually the blindfold followed along with it and Damian found himself in the loading bay of what appeared to be a cavernous hollow cave. There had been a few feeble attempts to shield his location (monitors extinguished, pin boards taped over) but nothing can disguise the looming ragged stone walls and far-off susurrus of the sea: Damian knows he is in Mount Justice, an ancient League base abandoned after its location was compromised. Damian has never visited but he’s read the records on the ill-fated base and he supposes he understands the theory of hiding in plain sight. It does figure, however, that Batman would place this team here rather than expend it on anything useful.

So it is with his vision returned and a colourful flanked vanguard of teenage sidekicks that he enters the heart of the mountain and finds an even more formidable and suspicious guard awaiting him. Half a dozen heads turn as Damian and the team enter the main chamber but he only has eyes for one. It appears that Batman only has eyes for him too.

He had never taken the time to catalogue the exact differences between his father’s Batman and Grayson’s. He has always grudgingly believed that his mentor had done quite a good job of imitating the old blood and most villains of Gotham had clearly thought the same as few ever challenged the minute changes from Batman to Batman. Now the disparities are as clear as day.

There are minor physical differences, of course. This Batman is slightly taller, bulkier and there are near invisible lines forming around his mouth, lips which are carved of stone and set like locks in his square jaw. Looking at lips like that, Damian cannot imagine them ever stretching into an easy smile the way Grayson’s do. He has a face like nothing human, chillingly cold and entirely indiscernible from the cowl that clouds his features. Damian feels he could peel it away and find nothing but a glaring skull beneath.

And there are so many things that are the same. The calculating gaze, the powerful stance, the threatening aura like an oncoming storm. Grayson has mimicked all of these perfectly. But unwittingly he has injected something more into his incarnation of the Dark Knight: life. Damian can look at him and see more than the shadow in Gotham’s darkest alleyways; he can imagine peeling away the mask and seeing the laughing features beneath. Grayson can shrug Batman on and off like the trailing cloak. Certainly on occasions it tangles and it appears for a moment he’ll remain ensconced in the shroud but he always tears free, no matter how clumsily or violently.

The man Damian sees before him has died in the shroud, shrivelled into the Kevlar. He is nothing more than the Batman. He is nothing more to Damian.

Perhaps under different circumstances he’d appreciate the reunion. Damian misses his father in a way he can’t control, even if logically he knows he’d never have truly become Robin or gained Batman’s trust had it not been for his death. Unfortunately what he sees before him is simply the Batman who always rejected him and that is torturous enough.

“Robin.” He says the name with such disdainful scepticism, Damian feels old flames of anger flare up as if they were never extinguished. He restrains the urge to reply with a biting ‘father’, just to remind him of the intrinsic link between them and instead keeps his voice as steady as possible.

“Batman.” He replies and is pleased to hear himself sound even and reasonable. “I believe we have a sensitive situation on our hands.”

“And what situation is that?” Superman says. Behind him the Flash, Black Canary, Martian Manhunter and Red Tornado lurk hesitantly. They are each gawping at him with their own brand of disbelief. Well, all except Black Canary who is keeping a piercing eye on both himself, Batman and Robin. She’s a therapist, he recalls, or a psychologist or some other nonsense of that sort. It would be best to avoid her and her discerning gaze if he wishes to keep his secrets.

And he does. For the sake of this world’s future and possibly his own, he does.

“A situation in which I am not where I’m supposed to be.” He answers eventually. He’s hesitant to entirely reveal his hypothesis. Even to his own mind, it sounds improbable. It should be impossible.

“That’s obvious.” Robin scoffs and both Damian and Batman turn to look at him.

“Robin.” Batman says and he all but flinches. “Mission report.” Damian watches as he palpably stiffens, all feeling draining from his face.

“We arrived at the warehouse at around midnight.” He lists off. “We conducted a sweep of the area but encountered no threats besides an inexplicable road block outside the building with no evident police monitoring. We found the machine unguarded and defenceless. I attempted to hack it-”

“You should have contacted the League.” Superman cuts him off angrily. “We had no clue of the capabilities of that thing. What if you had triggered some sort of defence mechanism and it had killed you all?”

“That’s what I said.” Mumbles Kid Flash but he is resoundingly ignored.

“Batman, if I may-” Aqualad begins but Batman does not allow him to finish.

“I wish to hear Robin’s version of events. He was, after all, the one who cleared this mission to you without my authority. Continue.”

Robin has gone pale, but does as he’s ordered. “The surface tech I recognised but the deeper I went, the more foreign and… well… alien the hardware became. I just thought I’d found a loophole in the firewalls when the whole thing began to spark and alarms began blaring overhead. A few seconds later _he_ -” Robin gestures roughly to Damian. “-tumbled out.”

Batman seems to consider this for a moment before saying “Did he display aggression?”

Infuriated at being spoken about as if he’s not in the room, Damian snaps “Minor.” At the same time as Kid Flash exclaims “He tried to kill Rob!”

With a sense of impending dread, Damian watches the iron grip of protectiveness invade every inch of his father’s body. It’s an emotion he’s observed rarely displayed in his defence but often in Grayson’s or Drake’s. The Batman is about to become unreasonable.

“It was in self-defence.” Damian says instantly, having to justify his violent instincts once more to the man who helped plant them. “I was barely conscious and he appeared threatening. I did not realise he was Robin.”

“I thought _you_ were Robin.” Flash pipes up, ever the smart alec.

“I am.” He says with a weary snarl and watches their gazes sharpen at the admission. Suddenly the scrutinising heat of their multitude of stares seems to burn into him. He’s not used to being around so many heroes at once, let alone attempting to coalesce with them. Normally it’s just him and Batman and they are so attuned, they could complete a patrol without needing to talk. Not that Grayson ever would, as he feels impulse to vocalise every fleeting thought that enters his head…

Do not think about _him_ right now, Damian chides himself fiercely. However, the affectionate pangs continue to chime and their pain only encourages the ignorance of these heroes to rankle further.

“I am willing to explain,” He says through gritted teeth. “to Batman and Robin. My presence involves them and them alone. The rest of you are superfluous.”

“Super-what?” Kid Flash says and turns to Robin. “Am I right to feel insulted?”

“Yes.”

“Then hey! How dare you!”

“Superfluous.” Damian snaps. “Unnecessary. You are surplus, hence you are superfluous.”

“That is actually factually inaccurate.” Red Tornado says hollowly in refute. “Considering that we have an excess of Robins, you are the one who is superfluous.”

Damian is so stunned he doesn’t even get angry. He has never heard Red Tornado speak in such a way. Beside him Kid Flash snickers.

“Nice sass, RT!” He says, shooting him thumbs up that the Leaguer stiffly returns.

“Red Tornado is correct.” Batman says. “And any sensitive information disclosed I trust with members of the Justice League. Team, you are dismissed.”

There is an immediate indignant outburst from the teenage heroes around him.

“What?”

“But we brought him in!”

“Batman, I don’t think it would be wise-”

“Like hell we’re dismissed, he slammed a staff into my ribs!”

No one is more insistent than Robin. “B, please.” He says and that sincere, manipulative edge enters his voice as he stares up at Batman entreatingly. “I know you told me not to pursue it, but this is my case now. You have to let me follow it through.”

“I’m not a case.” Damian seethes but he is ignored.

“I told you the League would investigate the creation of the machine. You went against my orders and almost got yourself killed.” Batman growls and this is where Grayson would drop it, withdraw and formulate a different battle strategy for a better time. Instead Robin continues to push.

“Batman.” He says seriously. “He knows my civilian id.”

Batman’s jaw clenches. Around them others drop. The caped crusader turns to Damian and he feels his blood run cold.

“Is this true?” He says, voice as sharp as a knife.

Damian swallows thickly and when he speaks his voice is a rough whisper. “There are many things I know. The identity of multiple League members is the least of the secrets I need to keep.”

“Do you see now why I need to be involved in this?” Robin says. “I’m personally implicated.”

“You’re personally compromised.” Batman barks, suddenly furious. “That is enough, Robin. You have overstepped your bounds tonight and acted rashly with no consideration of the implications on yourself and your team. You are dismissed.”

“But-” He begins.

“You. Are. Dismissed.” Batman bites out each word.

Robin bows his head, mouth trembling. An awkward silence falls across the room.

Damian can only watch the standoff with wide eyes. The way Batman just reprimanded Robin is both uncharacteristic and yet completely familiar. It is the exact way his father had used to scold Damian, the same harsh belittling tone and cumbersome inflictions of responsibility. However he has never heard him speak that way to _Grayson_.

Grayson, who, to Damian’s great rancour, could do no wrong. Grayson, who was always held in father’s greatest confidence and could calm or lead him with a look. It should be satisfying to see the shoe on the other foot and watch him rip the ‘Golden Boy’ of the family apart for once but infuriatingly Damian cannot even enjoy the moment because of Batman’s unserviceable obtuseness.

“Robin needs to hear this.” He says, just as it looks like he’s about to turn to leave. Batman’s molten glare turns to him.

“You are not our guest, you are in our custody.” He reminds him. “Why should we do anything to indulge you?”

“Because you want answers.” Black Canary speaks up, voice deceptively soft and benign. To Damian’s surprise, she walks forward to him and holds out a hand. Immediately there are noises of alarm from the other heroes and Damian himself cannot help but eye the hand with reservation, concerned that it’s a trap. However Black Canary’s face is so non-patronising, she doesn’t even force a smile, and so empty of inhibition that the sheer novelty compels him to shake.

Her grip is firm and supportive. “Hello, Robin. My name is Black Canary.”

“I know.” He says.

“I’m sorry about all this.” She says. “Batman can get a little paranoid.”

“I know that too.” He says wryly.

She laughs, a light, pleasant sound. It reminds Damian of another laugh. “I feel as if there’s a lot you know.” She says. “And not just about us.” Turning back to Batman, her voice becomes more authoritative. “See how reasonable we can be when we talk to each other respectfully? You want to know who this boy is and where he’s come from. He wants Robin to stay. It doesn’t take a genius to see the compromise.”

For the first time, no one says anything; even Batman has been left grudgingly speechless. Damian grasps the opportunity.

“Robin must stay, that is non-negotiable. However, I would be willing to allow others to remain if they vowed confidentiality.”

“Nothing leaves this base.” Batman promises.

“On pain of death.” Damian says, charging enough gravity into his voice that all listening know that this is a promise, not a condition. There is a scattering of nods.

“Then Robin may remain.” Batman concedes gruffly.

“Hold up,” Artemis says. “Only Robin?”

“ _We_ brought him in.” Superboy reiterates.

“Technically I _allowed_ myself to be brought in.” Damian says but no one seems to care for this technicality.

“I’ll only stay if my team stays.” Robin says, grin back in place. “You know I’ll tell them everything anyway, B.”

Damian doesn’t think he likes the idea of a bunch of glorified sidekicks learning information that could change their entire stream of existence, but if it gets Robin to stay he’s willing to stomach it. Batman considers for a moment.

“Fine.” He says and Robin and Kid Flash high-five. “But you must all swear complete silence on anything shared surrounding this case. If any of you disclose anything without my permission, it won’t be him you need to worry about.”

There’s a series of frightened squeaks of agreement and Batman focuses on Damian. “Well?” He says. “Does that meet your conditions?”

He nods stiffly.

“Then who are you? And where have you come from?”

Damian lets his eyes drift across the audience of heroes. They’re not the first people he’d look for in solving a multidimensional crisis but he supposes they’ll have to do. After all, in this universe he is not Robin and Grayson is not Batman. This is the best they’ve got.

“I am the vigilante known as Robin.” He says. “And I believe I have travelled to a parallel universe.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The interrogation continues and typically takes a turn for the worse for Damian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew has it been a while. Really sorry for the long break I was on holiday but was paranoid enough not to want to broadcast that on the internet :D  
> I swear this fic is going somewhere!! It is!! I have a plot!! The problem is I care about it so much I want to cover everything and sometimes that comes across a little waffley, sorry  
> Hope you enjoy! Drop a comment to tell me what you think

There’s an earth-shattering silence as the words slowly sink in like the tip of an arrow.

“Do you really expect us to believe that?” Batman says at last but Damian can tell that the cogs are already whirring in his industrial brain. He doubts there’s anything Batman won’t believe anymore.

“I had trouble accepting it as well.” Damian confesses. “But to me it is the only viable theory. I fell through a machine and travelled through what I can only describe as a space-time void. I found myself in a world that closely echoes the past of my own, only with some undeniable errors.”

“That’s why you asked the date.” Artemis says. “Because you suspected you had what- time travelled?”

Damian nods. “Stranger things have happened in Gotham.”

Succinctly and deliberately vague, he explains the series of events that had led himself and Batman to the warehouse that night and the ensuing fight that sent him tumbling into their world. With each description of the small army they’d battled and the supervillains involved, Batman looks more and more dire.

Damian does not mention that his Batman is not the same person as this Batman. He doesn’t consider it relevant or productive to the task at hand.

“I recognised Robin immediately, both as a hero and as his civilian ID; only where I am from he’s older, perhaps by a decade.” He says, risking a glance at Robin and struggling not to superimpose the image of his mentor in his place. “However, I had no recollection of the heroes Artemis, Miss Martian or Aqualad ever working with him and the Superboy I know is younger and lacking a considerable amount of muscle definition.”

“Sucks to be you, Supes.” Kid Flash snickers whilst the Kryptonian clone appears to internally debate whether a jab at his parallel self is a jab at him. “What about me, changeling Robin? What’s the dashing Kid Flash like where you’re from?”

“Don’t call me that.” Damian says warningly. “And if you ask me, you should take a leaf out of his book. He doesn’t talk as much.” It’s as close to ‘drop dead’ as he thinks he can hazard. “Together these minute disparities have led me to believe that by falling through that machine, I have inadvertently travelled to a parallel ‘sister’ universe, if you will. One so similar that mine is practically the future of yours.” 

“That’s one hell of a theory.” Superman says slowly once he’s finished. “And the implications if you’re right are staggering.”

The Martian Manhunter nods. “Even highly sophisticated alien races have not yet mastered the art of travelling through dimensions. Humans should be centuries away from such technology.”

“You’d be surprised at the human capability to defy expectations when pursuing what they want.” Black Canary says thoughtfully. “An ability that can be both a blessing and a curse.”

“Were you and… _Batman_ able to discover who was responsible for the creation of your machine?” Batman asks. He’s still looking at Damian as if he can’t decide whether to trust him or run him through.

“No.” He admits, shaking his head, eyebrows knitting in concentration. “But the Riddler did provide one of his inane puzzles which might hold the key.”

He recites it and their company falls into a contemplative silence as they all try to make some sense of what, on the surface, sounds like the ravings of a madman.

“I am everywhere but you cannot see me. I am touching you but you cannot feel me. I reveal everything but have no substance to be revealed. What am I?” Robin echoes, a hand resting on his chin. “That does sound like something the Riddler would concoct.”

“Do you believe me now?” Damian says with a satisfied smirk.

“Oh, I believe you.” Robin says and Damian is momentarily taken aback by his surety. “In fact I think this is the first straight answer you’ve given us since you dangled me from the rafters of that warehouse.” Batman’s scowl deepens slightly and Damian feels his own spring up to mirror it. How typical that this is the thanks he gets for saving Grayson’s life. “But B, I really think we’re overlooking-”

“How do we know you’re telling us the truth?” Batman says abruptly, cutting him off. Robin’s mouth hangs open for a moment, words dangling listlessly on his tongue before he snaps it shut again with a furious simmer. “Can you provide any evidence besides your word?”

Damian can tell from his tone just how little his ‘word’ means to him. “The machine I convinced your team to bring with me is one example. As you heard from Robin’s assessment, its completely alien design-”

“-means it could have been placed there by anyone for any purpose.” Batman says smoothly. “And since creating a portal to a parallel universe should be impossible, we have no way of ascertaining whether or not it is one.”

Damian nods his head, conceding the point. He’s fine with a challenge. He’d be sceptical in Batman’s place as well. “Fine. I know your civilian identity.”

“A concerning security breach but not evidence of dimension travel.” Batman frowns almost patronisingly. “Several people in this room know that information. Why should it mean so much coming from you?”

 _Because I know how scared you are of it_ , Damian internally seethes, _and how careful you are to keep it hidden_. That barely any villains in the world know of Batman’s civilian id is no miracle: it’s the result of years of stringent secrecy and constant vigilance to create an unbridgeable dichotomy between Batman and Bruce Wayne. It is the one mystery the World’s Greatest Detective is most eager to remain unsolved.

Damian has also heard he only became so obsessed after he took on Robin. A different approach, in that case. “I know _Robin’s_ secret identity.” He says and is frustrated when Batman’s visage offers no change.

“I should hope so.” He says. “He told me so himself. It’s not like Robin to make two mistakes in one evening.”

Robin flinches and Damian is surprised to find his own teeth beginning to clench. It had begun pleasing to see Grayson chastised by his father after so long appearing infallible to the man but now it’s becoming increasingly an issue of pride to witness his mentor belittled.

“I know the security codes to this compound.”

“I thought you said you were from a decade in the future? The codes change monthly.”

Damian internally curses himself. How could he possibly forget that? His mind is beginning to fuzz around the edges, he realises, as the pain of his accumulated wounds and the stress and fear begin to catch up with him. It’s late, well past midnight. Damian prides himself on working well under pressure but this whole farce is just irritating.

“What can I do to prove myself?” He asks, remembering with an increase in displeasure how he’d hoped never to have to ask his father that question again. “You are clearly attempting to undermine me and my theory. What do you need to believe me?”

“This isn’t a matter of proving yourself, Robin.” Black Canary says soothingly, glancing from him to Batman with a steel scrutiny. “We’re just exploring all the options.”

“Yeah, like that he might be a Cadmus Clone.”

In-sync they all turn to look at Kid Flash, who must have dipped out to get a snack at some point during the conversation as he’s holding a half-eaten banana and looking very disinterested in the proceedings. When he notices they’re all looking at him, he swallows his mouthful with a gulp. “Or were we not supposed to say that?”

“Dude!” Robin hisses incredulously, elbowing his friend in the shoulder. “No! Absolutely not. He’s nothing like me!”

“I mean… he’s a bit like you.” Kid Flash says, and then quails beneath his glare. “Come on, Rob! He’s calling himself Rob! Plus he’s totally got your whole ninja thing going on.”

“He did disappear much like you do earlier in the warehouse.” Aqualad points out and the rest of the team cautiously nod in agreement.

“Great to know that you guys are on my side.” Robin says bitterly.

“I wasn’t aware Cadmus produced clones.” Damian says, turning to capture the response from Batman.

He instantly notices the way Batman has alighted upon the theory. He’s descended into a contemplative stillness as he scrutinises Damian with new interest, eyes roaming from him to Robin as if searching for similarities. Robin notices too.

“Batman, there’s no way.” He grits out. “We look nothing alike, he tried to _kill_ me-”

“It’s possible.” Batman muses and the single phrase causes Robin to bury his face in his hands and a vein to pulse in Damian’s neck.

Batman is stringent to the extreme when it comes to possibilities. If he’s even considering this theory, then he will pursue it, chase it down and gnaw every scrap of evidence off its bones. Until that moment, he’s indefatigable.

“You truly believe _I’m_ a clone of _him_!?” Damian says, gesturing violently to himself and then Robin to punctuate his point. “I will not stand here and be insulted!”

“First of all, not an insult you homicidal gremlin,” Robin says. “And second, he just provided us with an entirely viable theory, if not one that raises concerning questions. Speaking of which, can we stop to consider-”

“When was the last time you could possibly have had a DNA sample extracted?” Batman questions, already turning away to the black screen behind him and booting it back to life.

Robin lets out a long sigh through his nose. “I’m not certain. When we broke Superboy out and destroyed the original Cadmus labs, they were planning to create clones of KF, Aqualad and I but they didn’t get a chance to finish.”

“Finish what?”

He hesitates. “The extraction process. But I blew up the cloning chambers before we left. There shouldn’t have been any DNA remaining.”

“Let’s say there was.” Batman says, bringing up a mission report on the monitor and summoning three different articles on cloning for good measure. “That was approximately 7 months ago. We believed we had taken every scientist working there into custody but we had no register of the genomorphs, meaning some may have been able to escape with the incomplete structure of Robin’s DNA.”

“Superboy,” Superman says, and despite his looks of perplexity, the sidekick puffs out his chest at being addressed. “Would it be possible for someone emulating Cadmus’ cloning technology to create a clone of Robin in such a short space of time?”

He frowns and Damian is vindictively reminded of a toddler trying to count past 10. “Maybe… they have growth accelerators. It doesn’t explain why he looks younger though, and normally the physical resemblance is more uncanny.”

“Perhaps due to the incomplete nature of the DNA sample?” Red Tornado queries in his emotionless tone.

“Or perhaps to throw us off the scent. Make us believe his sob story about parallel universes and the future.” Flash suggests.

“A story so outlandish they’d hope we wouldn’t even question it.” Batman agrees, already sombre as if regretting he could have been so easily swayed.

“I am not lying to you.” Damian protests.

“But neither was Red Arrow,” Artemis says, eyes glimmering furtively at the older heroes. “He had no clue he was a clone because they fed him false memories. Maybe they’ve done the same to this Robin; invented a crazy backstory and placed him here as a sleeper agent.”

“I have no clue who this ‘Red Arrow’ is,” Damian seethes, feeling the bruises on his face ache as they crease into a snarl. “But I assure you, my memories are real.All we’ve discerned so far is that Robin may or may not have a clandestine clone somewhere in the world. There is no real evidence to prove it’s me.”

“Then you’ll be willing to provide us with a DNA sample?” Batman asks and Damian’s blood runs cold.

Throughout Damian’s life his genetic structure has always been more trouble than its worth. What would his father do if he realised he was his son? Surely he wouldn’t harm him, he thinks uneasily, but memories of the initial distrust he displayed when Damian first went to live with his father surface in his mind and he doubts the reception will be much warmer than it was then.

Besides, there’s always a chance that in this parallel universe he isn’t born yet. Damian’s in no way an egotist but he likes the idea of being alive whether it’s in his world or beyond. Maybe that’s why I was sent here, he thinks suddenly, in an attempt to prevent my own birth by forewarning my father. It would be a mighty convoluted and risky plan if that were the case so he doubts it but even the idea of the accident of his birth being averted makes Damian feel… _wrong_ , that all-pervasive wrongness he’d felt travelling through the portal.

He can’t let it happen, he decides determinedly, because if I do, Drake will remain Robin and Gotham will be plunged into anarchy under his incompetence.

“I… I can’t do that.” He says stiffly, crossing his arms. “That would be compromising information, the kind that could severely disrupt your timeline. Besides, it’s a major breach of privacy. I have a secret identity too, you know, and you’ve no right to take it from me.”

“That timeline excuse is beginning to sound less and less legit.” Flash says and Batman clearly thinks so too from the way his own arms cross beneath his cloak, unknowingly mimicking his son.

“Your reluctance to co-operate isn’t helping your cause.” He growls. “Will you provide us with the evidence we need or will we be forced to take matters into our own hands?”

The threat does little for Damian but Black Canary looks at Batman in alarm. “Batman, he’s a child.” She says. “Younger than Robin!”

“We get it, I’m 14.” Robin mutters mutinously and despite everything, Damian raises an eyebrow.

“14? Is it not February? I know I joke that you’re lacking brain cells, Robin, but surely you can remember your own birthday?”

“Yeah.” He says slowly. “November 11th. I turned 14 last year.”

“Your birthday’s March 20th.” Damian insists stubbornly.

“I think I’d remember my own birthday.” Robin retorts coldly and he relents. He doesn’t like that even something so small is different about this Grayson. Perhaps that’s the reason why this group was never formed in Damian’s world: the few months difference were enough to convince Batman that Robin was too young.

There’s really no point speculating, Damian thinks firmly, and he doesn’t really care about Grayson’s birthday. It’s just unnerving is all, like a discordant note in a familiar song.

“You might think he’s a clone,” Black Canary continues, “But manhandle that kid and you’ve got a human rights violation on your hands.”

“Moreover, Superboy and Red Arrow were as much victims of Cadmus as we were.” Martian Manhunter says, looking sympathetically at Damian in a way that makes him want to kick him in the oversized cranium.

“Give him some time to mull it all over and then ask again for that sample.” Black Canary suggests. “In the meantime, we’ll investigate the machine and see if this incident is linked to any... recent conflicts.”

“You mean _we’ll_ investigate the machine.” Superboy says. “ _We_ brought it in, not the League.”

“I think you’ll find _I’ll_ investigate the machine.” Damian says snappishly. “Since it has displaced me from my world, not the League. If you think for a second I’ll be content to mull over your generous offer of a sure-fire way to obliterate your timeline, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“And if you think we’ll let a potential sleeper agent be involved in League business, you’re sorely mistaken.” Superman says.

Every hero in the room besides Robin is looking at him with an identical mask of mistrust and accusation. They really think I’m a clone, Damian thinks. They truly don’t trust me. They don’t believe I’m _Robin_.

Why does that still hurt? He wonders. Why do I keep on allowing it to hurt? I should be stronger and surer than this.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be perfectly comfortable.” Batman says, as if that should consolidate Damian to the idea of his future going up in smoke. Turning to the Martian Manhunter’s sidekick, he implores “Miss M?”

She dithers nervously before raising her fingers to her temple. “I’m really sorry.” She says and as her eyes begin to glow, Damian realises too late what’s about to happen and scrambles to rebuild his mental fortitudes.

“M’gann, don’t!” Grayson says at the same time as Damian here’s a powerful voice in his mind say “SLEEP.”

His vision dims. He begins to crumple, unknown hands catching him before he touches the floor. The last thing he hears is Grayson’s indignant cry of “Batman!” before succumbing to unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I googled Dick's birthday to try and calculate his age and apparently he's got two canon birthdays, 11th of November and the 20th of March?? Batman Dick Grayson's is definitely the 20th of March so I thought that'd just be a fun lil thing to insert in there :) Thanks for reading!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian wakes and plans his investigation. The team is faced with a difficult choice: follow the League, or their guts?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Damian says mean things about other heroes. These are not representative of my idea of these heroes. I love everyone in both the Bat family, Teen Titans and Young Justice. Damian is just a lot of salt concentrated in a tiny body.

Damian seldom dreams.

Dreams are a denotation of a disturbed mental state and Damian practices regular meditation and an immaculate diet and exercise regime to ensure he doesn’t succumb to such frailty of mind. However, an alien-induced slumber doesn’t make for restful sleep and so Damian, even to his lucid sleep-self’s surprise, finds himself dreaming.

He dreams he’s at home, in the manor, sitting at the grand table in the dining hall. Every one of Gotham’s bat vigilantes are seated around him and that is the first thing that assures him that he is in a dream; no measure of puppy-dog eyes or bribery on Grayson’s part could ever convince Todd to sit so peacefully next to Drake beneath the watchful eyes of the Wayne family portraits. Yet somehow, although he knows he’s dreaming, Damian doesn’t feel the need to do or say anything. He just observes.

Cassandra Cain and Stephanie Brown are swapping food from each other’s plates, chewing with their mouths wide open in laughter. It’s mildly repulsive. Duke Thomas and Drake are comparing something on tablet screens, perhaps mission reports. Every now and again they’ll elbow each other affectionately or clink glasses with appropriated smugness. Selina Kyle is there, for some reason, stroking Alfred the Cat’s head with gleaming red nails and accepting a refill of red wine from Alfred the Butler who is smiling genially, looking more at peace than Damian has seen him since his father’s death.

And Grayson is at the head of the table, laughing at something Todd has said and then passing on the comment to Barbara Gordon who smiles and shakes her head indulgently. His eyes alight on Thomas and Drake and he tells them off kindly, ‘No hero business at the dinner table!’ and everybody laughs in unison, their bright eyes and teeth glittering under the dazzling refractions of the chandelier. He’s wearing the smile Damian keeps seeing in the mirror. He looks safe and content and Damian realises he feels exactly the same way.

The rest of the meal passes sleepily by. No one seems to really eat. Before Damian knows it, Grayson has lifted him from his chair and even though he acknowledges the indignity of it, in a very real sense he’s grateful for the comforting embrace of his arms. His mother has never held him like this, he thinks.

He’s deposited gently onto his bed and Grayson smooths back his hair before he closes the door, saying something that makes Damian grumble but inwardly glow all the same. This is a dream, he thinks, as the door swings shut and his partner’s figure retreats back into the warm glow of Wayne Manor. I don’t want to wake up.

He wakes up, still expecting to hear Titus scrabbling against the door. All the warmth and comfort leaches from him as if he’s just been dumped in an ice bath and the pain of his wounds racks him in a sudden, physical jolt. Wincing, he sits up on his canvas cot and finds himself in a barren room reminiscent of a cell, one wall hewn from rough rock and the others made of smooth, bare concrete.

There’s no camera, so Damian assumes this would ordinarily be a private room repurposed, and one door with a digital lock that he gives a futile tug, unsurprised to find it locked tight. He’s being treated like a prisoner, he fumes, shaking off the final dregs of sleep and being left with a cold, frustrated fury at the ridiculous nature of his situation. Luckily he can also feel that his mental faculties are back to more or less full capacity, the few hours of involuntary sleep having done him more good than he’d like to admit.

However, it appears he has been relieved of his gloves, wrist computer and utility belt as he slept. His escrima sticks were confiscated when he was first taken prisoner but luckily the heroes have neglected to remove his boots, perhaps unwilling to force him to walk barefoot, which is their mistake: he has a blade and security override USB drive hidden beneath each sole.

For the first time, he takes arsenal of his injuries and is relieved to find they consist mainly of flesh wounds and have ceased their sluggish bleeding. As he probes each ache and pain, he also ascertains that nothing is broken which is good so he’ll need little medical attention besides a few simple stitches in his arm and perhaps a plaster or two.

Still, it would be a nuisance if any of his wounds got infected so he decides to see to them first. After that, he intends to hack into one of the computers and bring up mission reports and a map of the area, access the League Database if he can though he has never had much patience for developing a hunch over a computer screen like Drake. It’s the beginning of a plan and Damian is pleased to feel his mind focused and collected again. It’s practically mortifying looking back on his composure the night before. He’d been practically a Grayson-level of hysterical.

As soon as he thinks the name he wonders whether he should attempt to involve him in his investigation. His gut says yes but logically he thinks he shouldn’t. Not only would he probably insist on roping in his intolerable team of care-bear sidekicks (and that Martian really sets Damian on edge) but although he doesn’t suspect him to be a clone, he’s withholding his trust for other reasons.

Ones Damian aren’t sure of yet, which troubles him, making him frown as he shimmies the blade from his shoe, hiding it amongst his armour for easy access. Up until this point, Grayson has been the only one from whom he could ensure trust.

The lock is almost laughably easy to disable: Damian plies it open with his knife and slashes the appropriate wires until the thing caves and he scampers out, immediately blending in with the shadows. Camera in that corner, another down the hall. If he had his wrist computer, he might have a hope of disabling them but as it stands he’s perfectly well trained to evade such simple security systems.

He travels this way, ducking and rolling enough to make Grayson proud and his head pound, until he comes upon a flight of stairs and wagers the medical bay will be down rather than up, for easy access. No point toting a hero who’s bleeding out through the whole mountain before treating them.

He finds the loading bay and the Martian ship he was escorted here in, knowing if it wasn’t alive he’d give it a vengeful kick for the sake of it. Sure enough, the medical bay is adjoining and deserted; two rows of clean, white beds and a cabinet stocked to the brim with everything Damian could need.

He cleans his wounds assiduously and tries not to wince from the cool sting of the alcohol and the raw scent of it lingering to the cuts on his cheek. He doesn’t bother trying to control his hisses as he sews the bigger lacerations shut: Todd had told him once when he didn’t, he looked like a toddler trying to develop heat vision. An unfavourable comparison, but not an overall inaccurate one.

Once he’s finished and still no one has disturbed him, he decides he may as well take the time to close some of the larger tears in his uniform. Needlework is an enriching and practical skill, he thinks stoically as he expertly weaves the pin in and out of the cloth and watches it close up like a scar. Alfred has told him so many times on the occasions they sit down together and practice. It’s not regular, Damian doesn’t often have much time for colluding with the hired help, but he has found it therapeutic the few times they’ve managed to embroider together.

Of course this was mainly because Alfred didn’t feel the need to fill the air with talk. They had been planning to move on to knitting next time, Damian thinks somewhat wistfully. He was going to craft himself a navy scarf, like the kind his father and Grayson always wear…

“Just fixing up the bikes!”

He’s so lost in nostalgic thought, he almost doesn’t duck when the doors to the loading bay open with a metallic groan. The thread he was using snags on his chest plate and he rips it savagely in two, wondering what on earth someone could be doing with the vehicles so early in the morning?

A minute later, back in the hallway with his wounds attended to, he wishes he hadn’t asked.

“Repulsive.” He mutters to himself, feeling mildly queasy. “They’re supposed to be teammates. How wildly unprofessional.”

He almost wishes Drake were there just so he could rub it in his face that his parallel-universe boyfriend was currently locking lips with some telekinetic Martian between the motorcycles. Then again, he’s almost grown used to coming upon his predecessor and the clone entangled in some corner and this only makes what was already a disturbing scene all the more horrific: it feels like a betrayal not only to Drake, but to Damian’s normalcy.

He genuinely does wish Drake were there when he makes it into what he can only describe as the ‘control centre’ of the cave and has to wrangle the computer. When he enters the lights are dimmed and the outer perimeter of the room is bathed in shadow so Damian waits, listening intently for any signs of life before creeping forward on light feet. He’s not going to let Grayson get the jump on him a second time, even if he is the family’s resident twinkle-toes. He has _work_ to do.

Someone has left the largest monitor on but it demands a passcode which Damian doesn’t even attempt to guess in case it automatically locks him out. The passwords Batman and hence the League uses are random nonsense and he can only recall the ones in the last few months, never mind the last 10 years. Taking out his security override USB, he considers whether it’s worth expending on this search. He’ll only get one use out of it and he isn’t confident he even knows what he’s looking for…

In the end, he tucks it back into his boot and cracks his knuckles.

“Alright.” He says softly, resting his fingers on the keyboard the way one might on piano keys before playing a concerto. “Let’s see if you can stand up to the great Damian Wayne. This can’t be that different from the Batcomputer.”

It is very different from the Batcomputer. Damian is not a bad hacker by any means. Every hero in Gotham has sufficient tech expertise and could certainly code their way in and out of a locked Justice League computer without leaving a trace. Drake is the best programmer, Damian will grudgingly admit, although this does not prevent him from being the most forgettable Robin. And Gordon practically lives online, having constructed enough search algorithms to have the entire combined knowledge of the internet at her fingertips.

Grayson is by far the best hacker and general wreaker of technological destruction. If Drake could construct a computer program in 10 minutes, Grayson could dismantle it in half that time. He’d tried to get Damian interested in computers and fire walls but having grown up in a world where technology was practically obsolete, he didn’t take to it. Now he’s wishing he’d paid a little more attention.

He slams his fist down on the table and sighs through his nose, all stealth forgotten. This computer is somehow both outdated and 10 steps ahead of him. Moreover the text is in a grating shade of orange which itches his eyes and makes it all too tempting to bash the screen in. Whoever made that call will be receiving a very strongly worded email and then a follow up batarang to the jugular. Damian may not be able to torture this infernal device but people are not so complicated.

He’s just about to throw himself at the firewall for the fifth time when the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. In the reflection of the monitor, a disembodied hand emerges from behind Damian’s shoulder and before he has time to feel even a hint of shock or fear, he has lashed out and flipped it over his shoulder causing the rest of the body to slam into the ground with a crash.

“Ouch.” It whines and Damian has his forearm forced against its neck before he realises he’s standing over Robin.

That was much easier than anything kind of hacking or programming, he thinks, offering the Boy Wonder a hand which he pushes aside before rising elegantly to his feet. For one thing, he’s now making a big show of clutching his torso and gives Damian a reproachful look that grants him more fulfilment than dismantling any security system could. The humming and whirring of a computer cannot substitute the vocalisation of human pain.

For another he now has Grayson exactly where he wants him: in front of a screen. “Tell me the passcode for this computer.” He orders.

Robin looks as if he hasn’t slept, although it’s hard to tell behind the mask, and the glare he shoots Damian is one you might give to the sleep-paralysis demon lurking at the end of your bed for the fourth time that week. “An apology might be nice. I cracked my back in like, 5 different places. Gonna have to reschedule my chiropractor’s appointment.”

“You’ve already walked it off.” Damian snorts. “Passcode. Now.”

“Look, I don’t know what kind of parallel universe you come from, but here in the land of the luded-”

“The what?” Damian thinks he must have misheard him. There is no way a word just came out of Robin’s mouth. “Who are ‘the luded’? Is the earth being run by alien overlords known as ‘the luded’? Does humanity still exist autonomously?”

Robin looks at him for a moment, the unblinking whites of his domino mask giving a static effect that makes Damian afraid someone is re-wiring his brain. Then he splutters. A hand flies up to try and smother his giggles. Soon enough he’s cackling without such maniacal vigour, Damian still isn’t sure nothing’s wrong with him. The sound of it reverberates around the cavernous roof of the mountain like the chattering of bats and Damian is reminded acutely of home.

“Alien overlords!” He crows, back forgotten as he is wracked with laughter. “Only a bat could be that paranoid. Damn kid, you are who you say you are.”

“Then what is ‘the luded’?” Damian demands crossly, more irritated at missing the joke than it being at his expense.

“Luded! Like _de_ luded.” Robin explains. “Remove the prefix and you get an antonym of the original word. You’re _de_ luded, we’re luded.”

“That is not a word.” Damian objects. “And don’t think for a second you’ve distracted me from getting that passcode. I need access to the mission reports if I want to get home.”

“Well why do you think I’d know them?” Robin says, still grinning with mirth. “Bats doesn’t trust me with anything these days. He’s got me on a tighter leash than Wolf.”

“Of course you’d know them.” Damian says, taken aback. “You’re Robin.”

“Yeah, well.” Robin chuckles again but this time there’s a more bitter edge to his voice. “Maybe Robin works differently where you’re from.”

Damian opens his mouth to demand what he means when he’s cut off by a sudden blur of lurid yellow and Kid Flash materialises at Robin’s shoulder. He’s tossing crisps into his mouth and looking so bored, he doesn’t even notice Damian at first.

“Hey man,” He begins to Robin. “Artemis heard you laugh so she made me check to see what you were doing. She says if we do even one more thing to upset the boss-man-” It’s at this moment that he catches sight of Damian and his eyes widen, the crisp packet falling pathetically to the ground.

Before Robin has a chance to explain, he’s hightailed out of there shouting “Oh holy- guys, the prisoner’s escaped!”

“Prisoner?” Damian lets out a small –tt- at the sound of that. “I wasn’t aware I was being treated as a hostile.”

“You escaped, didn’t you?” Robin says dismissively. “You think we’d put you in a room you could escape if we considered you a prisoner? Kid’s just still sore you slammed him in the ribs.”

Damian gives an internal cackle of his own. “Literally.”

Within seconds, the rest of the team has flooded into the room and are all staring at Damian with varying looks of hostility and dismay. Aqualad places down his water-bearers in what he probably intended to be a friendly gesture, but it’s offset by Artemis’ arrow trained at his forehead and the way Superboy is cracking his neck, looking like a bull ready to charge.

“Remain calm, my friend.” Aqualad says. “Step away from Robin. We can talk.”

Damian reaches for his escrima sticks only to curse when he finds they aren’t there. Luckily, Robin is the one who defuses the situation.

“Hey, Kal, do you know the passcode for this thing?” He asks, jabbing a thumb at the computer. “Only murder-me wants to read all our mission reports and I’m trying to get him in.”

Kaldure blinks. “Robin, wha-”

“Never mind.” He trills, tapping one key and watching as the screen floods with code. “I’ve got a pre-set override sequence for this monitor.” A second later, a bubble pops up reading ‘ACCESS GRANTED’.

“Robin, what are you doing?” Artemis demands, sounding slightly shrill.

“What the rest of you will not.” Damian snaps, crossing his arms stubbornly. “Robin is aware that helping my investigation is the only way to return me to my world.”

Kid Flash groans. “Rob, not this again. I’ve spent all night trying to convince you to drop it. He’s a clone! A Cadmus clone! Being Robin, the whole parallel universe thing- it’s all baloney!”

Robin doesn’t say anything, keeping his eyes trained on the screen and finger clicking erratically at the mouse, but his jaw clenches.

“It’s fine if you don’t believe us.” Miss M says kindly, holding her hands open as if to welcome him into an embrace. “But the whole League’s in agreement. Surely you trust their judgement, Batman’s judgement.”

“Batman is not infallible.” Damian says immediately. He would know. He has half his genetics.

“Of course you’d say that.” Superboy scoffs. “You just want us to turn against each other.”

“You’ve got lipstick on your nose.” Damian observes coolly and watches as both he and the Martian turn beet red.

“Fixing the bikes.” Robin mutters derisively, without glancing up but Damian’s glad to see the way his lips twitch. “Yeah, right.”

“You were spying on us!” Superboy says, furiously.

“Don’t act as if it’s such a major breach of privacy. Not comparable to having someone knock you out from inside your own head.”

If it were possible, Miss M blushes even further. “Sorry.” She mumbles, twiddling her thumbs. She reminds Damian a little of Starfire, another flying redheaded alien he knows. He idly wonders whether she exists in this world. Hopefully not. She’s an acceptable hero, but a substandard girlfriend for the (future) Batman.

“That was a necessity, Robin.” Aqualad says. “Don’t try and tell me you’d have come quietly.”

“As if.” Damian says, a phrase he’s picked up from Brown who uses it to the point of affectation. “I need to find my way home and I don’t know how long I have to do so. Perhaps once I have all the League data surrounding the machine and its origins, I can find a way to reverse its function.”

The sidekicks suddenly look uncomfortable, giving each other sideways glances and dropping from their defensive stances.

“What?” Damian questions, ramping up his own. “What is it?”

“Ooo.” Artemis winces, sounding not at all sympathetic. “About that…”

“The League has it.” Robin says shortly and all the air leaves Damian in a rush.

“What?”

“We tried to convince them to let us keep it.” Aqualad sounds frustrated for the first time. “It’s _our_ case. But they would not listen. They said they were taking it to a secure location where it would not fall into enemy hands.”

“I tried to reason with them.” Robin says, speaking directly to Damian. He’s stepped away from the computer now and is looking generally disaffected. “Unfortunately, Batman isn’t acting reasonably.”

“I need that machine.” Damian says, sounding desperate even to his own ears. “It’s my only lead. Without it I have no idea how to return to my world.”

“He sounds very upset.” Miss M says anxiously. “And homesick.”

“What home does he have to feel sick for?” Artemis asks, with a touch of cynicism. “A test tube?”

“I’m not a clone!” Damian roars. “My home is a place with the people who fight by my side and right now, it is worlds away. And no matter whether you attempt to stop me or stay out of my way, nothing you can do will prevent me from returning to it.”

They all look a little stunned and more uneasy. Damian notices the way they look to Aqualad for guidance but his own eyes are trained to the ground, looking both cowed and torn. It is Robin who speaks up.

“Is it really so far-fetched?” He asks and Damian recognises the way they now all gaze at him like lost sheep, already half-prepared to follow his lead. “As a team we’ve fought magic and robots and you draw the line at time travel? I’ve thought about it and him being a clone just doesn’t make sense. Why would Cadmus create a sleeper agent who wants to escape the people he’s supposed to be spying on? And why use a prop so complicated that the greatest tech experts in the Justice League can’t figure out how it works just to back up his convoluted storyline?”

“Those radioactive substances couldn’t have been safe or cheap to build with.” Kid Flash admits, tapping his chin contemplatively. The others are beginning to nod and agree. Grayson is working his magic.

“Exactly.” He says firmly, his smile at the affirmation acting as a mental pat on the back for Kid Flash. “Believe me, I don’t like that he’s masquerading as Robin,”

“What?” Damian says, the abrupt turn of the speech surprising him. He is resoundingly ignored and Robin carries on:

“But he’s right that we should get him back to his own time before we do some serious damage to the time-space continuum.” He wiggles his fingers explanatorily. “Y’know, wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff. And who knows, this could be a massive conspiracy, one that really does threaten the safety of the entire dimension.”

“Forget heroes of earth, we could be saviours of reality.” Artemis says slowly, awe beginning to set in and causing her bow to dip.

“ _And_ rub it in the Leaguers’ faces for trying to take away our case!” Kid Flash adds, fist-pumping the air. “Oh go on Kal, can we? Can we?”

Aqualad looks at Miss M, clearly hoping for some sensible suggestions.

“I don’t know, Kaldur.” She says, looking away as if afraid to see his look of betrayal. “But I think he might be telling the truth.”

“I never did think he was a clone.” Superboy tags on.

“How very helpful now.” Damian says, with a touch of aggravation.

“Cadmus knows by now everyone in the League is on high alert for possibly invaders. Robin’s right, it doesn’t make sense.” He shrugs. “Messed up as it is, maybe he’s who he says he is.”

Aqualad looks overwhelmed by these various appeals. “Going behind the back of the League…” He begins worrisomely.

“Is nothing we haven’t done before.” Robin reminds him and there’s a rumble of excited agreement. “And we’ve been right more times than wrong. The Leaguers are heroes but they’re also old and paranoid.” A touch of resent enters his voice here. It’s not reminiscent of the way Grayson would usually refer to his elders. “It’s up to us to display a more open mind. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I stab you all in the back because I find you too annoying.” Damian suggests, impatient at this so-called leader’s indecision. He doesn’t care whether these children offer their aid or not. Can they just get on with it so he can get back to work?

“Shut up, kid. Not helpful.” Robin says, holding a hand up to silence him. If it were a year ago and Drake’s, Damian might have bitten it. He’s lucky he’s learnt some decorum since. “Well, Kaldur?” He says plaintively, finally appealing on his I’m-your-little-brother-don’t-do-this-to-me act. “Please? It’s _our_ case.”

Aqualad dithers for a moment more. Finally, he caves. Robin has severed all the correct wires. “Yes.” He agrees. “It is.”

There’s a round of cheers, similar to the kind that would erupt at the first goal of a football game. Well that’s that, Damian grudgingly accepts as he watches the teen sidekicks rejoice, although I hope they’re aware there’s much more of the game to play.

“Yes, yes good for fish-spawn, he made a big boy decision.” Damian grumbles. “Now let me see those files.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should really edit that TimKon to more-than-implied, huh?  
> Comment your thoughts! I love reading what you guys think, often it really helps progress the narrative having some feedback :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team make a deal and a plan... sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this a filler chapter? pffft! no?! how ridiculous would that be ha ha... unless...?  
> basically i said i'd get this out at the end of last week but i Did Not so i'm posting a shorter chapter than i'd like now rather than making y'all wait until the end of THIS week  
> so sorry about that but i hope you can enjoy anyway :)

“You said the League had good reason to suspect I was a clone.” Damian says, not looking up from the computer even as Robin skips and twirls around behind him. He’s hacking the League database from his wrist computer and insists activity will improve the circulation to his brain. Damian has heard this excuse before.

It’s almost amusing to watch him dance around like a ballerina with a look of intense concentration on his face. Unfortunately he is evading Damian’s questions as gracefully as he moves, weaving and eluding with verbosity so masterful, he can’t help but wonder if his Grayson forces himself to tone it down. If not he would in no way keep up the ‘loveable doofus’ reputation he’s acquired.

“Care to explain that?”

“Nah, it’s complicated.” He typically deflects. “Besides, didn’t you say you were from the future? Surely I’d have told you all about it.”

That does bother Damian somewhat, that he cannot distinct between what has been altered by the parallel quality of the past he’s in and what Grayson has simply not deigned to tell him. He cannot recall there ever being a clone crisis in his world besides Superboy’s conception and the League had taken that firmly in their stride, almost grateful for a new Kryptonian hero to encapsulate beneath their wings.

The League of Assassins and the Justice League are vastly different in all the ways that count. On occasion, however, Damian cannot help but pick up on small similarities.

“It probably never occurred where I’m from.” Damian responds succinctly and clicks a promising file labelled ‘Prototypal Blueprints of Radioactive Device.’ Up comes immediately a mechanical framework of the machine they’d found in the warehouse, labels denoting from which criminal each part has been acquired from. He’s just zooming in on the rather impressive internal cooling system labelled ‘Mr Freeze, Arkham Asylum?’ when Robin hits him with his most penetrating verbal bullet yet.

“Hey, am I dead?”

His hand spasms violently against his will and he almost exits the page. “What?” He demands, furious for no particular reason besides the fact that Robin looks only bemused at the proposition. “What a ludicrous suggestion! Why on earth would you think that?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, smiles easily. “You just get really edgy whenever I’m brought up. I mean, future me.” With an air of nonchalance, he looks down at his wrist. “Almost as if you’ve got something to hide.”

Damian lets the indirect accusation hang in the air for a moment longer, before pulling his hood up over his ears and looking stubbornly back at the computer. “I do not.” Is all he replies and thankfully at that moment the rest of the team returns.

“We tracked the Justice League to Santa Prisca,” Superboy says, nose wrinkling as if the place brings up at bad memories. “We think they’re investigating the Kobra cult.”

“More importantly, we don’t think Batman’s with them.” Artemis says. Kid Flash has an arm around her shoulders and Damian resists the urge to gag. This team is like a petri dish of inappropriate underage romances. “Maybe he’s returned to Gotham, to try to tie up some villainous loose ends. Maybe-”

“Aww!” Miss M suddenly exclaims, executing an aerial twirl and zooming over to Damian so enthusiastically that he raises his hands up to parry a strike. Instead of hitting him, she simply pinches the fabric of his hood, tugging at it for the others to see. “Look at that!” She squeals, beaming at him. “He’s got a little hood!”

“Don’t touch that!” Damian hisses, but the others are suddenly observing him as if he’s merely a distempered kitten. “It’s for stealth purposes!”

“It is very endearing.” Aqualad says, fighting to keep a warm smile off his face.

“Aww.” Kid Flash agrees, a hint of a sneer in his coo. “Rob, why don’t you have a wittle hood?”

“Because I asked for one and Batman said it would obstruct my peripherals.” Robin says, frowning grumpily. “How come he let you have a hood?”

“You asked for a hood?” Damian says, his blush receding for a moment before he shakes his head and snaps out of it. He cannot be bowled over by every little snippet of new information he learns about his partner. “Never mind. My acute senses of perception allow me to not be inhibited by a hood. I learned to fight with one. I would feel inadequately garbed without it.”

“You’re so weird.” Kid Flash says eventually. “Anyway, we also tried to figure out where they’ve put the machine but that was a dead end. We thought maybe the Watchtower since they know we can’t access it…”

“But they also know if I wanted to, I could totally access it.” Robin concludes.

“Exactly.” Kid Flash says. “So essentially… we got nothing.”

“Inaccurate.” Damian states, spinning around in his chair. He finds his chin resting on his fist and draws it back as if he’s been scalded, momentarily repulsed by himself. That is one of Drake’s mannerisms. 10 minutes in front of a computer and he’s acting like his most mortal rival. Technology truly is humanity’s greatest vice. “ _You_ have got nothing. I, on the other hand, am not anywhere near as incompetent-”

“Remind me why we’re helping this guy again?” Superboy asks approximately no one.

“-and have uncovered a most promising series of leads.” Damian brings up the blueprint on the largest monitor and watches as the skeletal figure of the machine dominates the screen. “Here is a labelled diagram of the machine that brought me here. It has annotations to denote the function of each part and more importantly which criminal has supplied it.”

Kid Flash gives a low whistle, unwrapping his arm from around Artemis and approaching to squint at the schematics. “I’m not a massive engineering nerd but this is some crazy machinery. You see that cooling system? Carbon neutral and 89% efficiency.”

“It is a very nice cooling system.” Damian grudgingly agrees. He is also grudgingly impressed by Kid Flash noticing this. “More curiously, it was designed by Mr Freeze who should be in Arkham Asylum. Whatever or whomever made this machine has friends in high places.”

The other team members suddenly exchange looks, as if all coming to some sort of similar conclusion.

“Do you think this might have to do with-” Miss M begins.

“Maybe.” Kaldur says. “It would not hurt to assume so.”

Damian feels his brow knit crossly. He does not appreciate being out of the loop. “What are you talking about? I demand to know.”

Before they can answer, Robin looks up from his wrist computer and announces “Jump city. That’s where they’re keeping the machine.”

“What?” Artemis asks. “That dinky little metropolitan place with all the hippie pizza joints?”

“The very one.” Robin agrees, dismissing his screen and rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

“It’s in _Jump city_?” Damian repeats, just in case he has heard him wrong. Before the Titans, there were no heroes in Jump. The place is practically undefended!

“There’s a Wayne Industries building there.” Robin says quickly. “You know how Bruce Wayne is a sponsor of the Justice League? Well they’ve got good security and I guess the League assumed it was the last place anyone would look.”

Batman must be really concerned about this whole situation if he’s willing to get his civilian identity involved, Damian thinks uneasily. Although he’s happy for Bruce Wayne to appear to support the Justice League in public, he tends to fall short of getting him involved in any real League business.

“Right.” Damian says. “That makes sense.”

The words wouldn’t hold any significance to someone who didn’t know but Robin shoots him a burning look all the same.

“So… do we just go after it?” Artemis says, twirling an arrow between her dexterous fingers. “If we know most of the League are in Santa Prisca, it should be virtually ours for the taking.”

“We don’t know that.” Robin says swiftly and Damian knows what he’s thinking. If Batman is unaccounted for then that means he’s handling things as Bruce Wayne and chances are he’s all over the machine’s security. “And even if we retrieve the device, how are we going to inverse its function without the League’s help?”

There’s a momentary silence as the impossibility of their task seems to sink in. They’re a bunch of sidekicks and an inter-dimensional fugitive with little information, few resources and dubious trust up against some unknown force with designs for the multiverse. Damian wishes his Batman were here. He’d have found some way to gain all of their loyalties and returned to his world with 7 billion new friends.

Aqualad is just opening his mouth to speak, perhaps to undergo some nauseating speech about teamwork and friendship, when the zeta tubes begin to glow and a robotic voice announces “Black Canary, 13.”

“Shoot!” Kid Flash declares on behalf of them all and there’s a frantic flurry to look natural during which Damian quietly slips into the shadows beneath the computer’s desk. Not the most dignified of hiding places but it will serve his purposes well.

Seconds later Black Canary strides into the mountain, carry a file and looking distracted. “Hey, kids.” She says, offering them a cursory glance.

“Hi, Black Canary!” They chorus eerily, smiling as widely and woodenly as ventriloquist dummies. Black Canary’s cursory glance becomes a piercing gaze.

“What are you doing down here?” She asks.

Robin shuffles so that Damian is entirely obscured by his cloak. “Nothing, BC, just discussing training schedules and the like, you know…” He trails off, cheeks twitching. Normally Grayson is cool and collected under pressure and a fantastic liar. Unfortunately, Black Canary seems to have an incredible knack for non-verbal interrogation.

“Who gave you the password to see those blueprints on the computer?” She asks, and Damian realises her verbal interrogation is pretty good too.

The team stiffens like goose bumps along a singular track of skin. Miss M giggles nervously and fumbles to turn off the computer.

“You hacked it, didn’t you?” Black Canary says, bringing a hand up to her forehead wearily. It’s less of a question, more of an indisputable fact.

They all slowly nod, shuffling their feet sheepishly, looking fairly reminiscent of scolded children.

“Technically Robin hacked it.” Kid Flash provides which only earns him a jab in the gut and a smack over the head from his friend and girlfriend respectively.

“Speaking of our guest, he wouldn’t happen to still be locked up safely in his room, would he?” Black Canary asks and the rhetoric in her voice is so strong, Damian doesn’t even bother hiding. Reluctantly, he parts the curtain of Robin’s cape, feeling as if he’s standing in front of a firing squad.

To his surprise, this merely extracts a smile from the hero. “You’re good. I had no idea you were hidden under there.”

“The key is controlling your breathing.” Damian says automatically. “Although I wouldn’t presume to patronise you on stealth.”

Her smile widens and she nods affirmingly. “Very good, Robin. Now, there’s no chance you’d sit in your room and wait for Batman and the rest of the League to get back, is there?”

“No.” He growls. “Not without a fight.”

“I imagined that would be the case.” She taps her chin with the corner of her file, observing him with a clinical eye. “Okay. I’m willing to make a deal with you.”

Damian perks up. He’d imagined they’d be ratted out immediately, especially as Black Canary was so notoriously protective of children in the superhero business. He’d been prepared for the humiliation as she called up Batman to scold them and even afraid that he might rush back that instant and demand the DNA test hanging so oppressively over his head. This was a welcome turn of events.

“One therapy session.” Until it wasn’t. “All I ask is an hour of open and honest discussion in a peaceful, confidential environment at a time of my choosing.”

“Done deal!” Kid Flash declares even as Damian splutters indignantly.

“Absolutely not!” He argues, crossing his arms defiantly. “I’m attempting to return to my home. Time is literally of the essence! I will not waste a fruitless hour subject to the drivelous questioning of a shrink!”

“Then I’ll try my best to be clear and concise.” Black Canary offers. “I can tell from your attitude that you’ve never had a therapy session, Robin, and any child in the hero business is, in my opinion, in sore need of one. If you do this, I’ll turn a blind eye.”

“So you’re fine with us physically putting ourselves in harm’s way as long as we can have a chat about it afterwards?” Damian scoffs but he’s beginning to doubt he’ll be getting out of this one.

“There’s nothing I can do to prevent you from physically damaging your health.” She says. “But mentally, I can. Everyone else in the team sits down with me once a month for a judgement-free session. They can vouch that nothing they’ve said leaves that room.”

Turning to the posse of sidekicks, Damian finds them all nodding and beaming eagerly with a not-so-subtle threat of murder in their eyes if he even considers turning down such a generous offer.

“Robin?” Black Canary coaxes softly. “What do you say?”

Swallowing down his pride along with the lump in his throat, Damian nods grimly to a fizzle of triumph from the others and a contented hmph from the scheming harlot herself.

Satisfied, Black Canary tucks her file back under her arm and offers them a playful wink. “Then I didn’t see a thing.”

After she’d left (and the rest of the heroes spent long enough craning their heads in the direction of her retreating back to ensure she was well and truly gone) there was a great heaving of relief.

“It’s our lucky day!” Kid Flash crows, sweeping Artemis into an embrace she only weakly protests.

“We must be more vigilant in future.” Aqualad chooses to point out, though he too is smiling and accepts a fist bump from Superboy. “Although that was very fortunate.”

“For you maybe.” Damian scowls, pulling his hood up once more before catching Miss M’s eye and yanking it down again. “Now I am sentenced to suffer through an entire hour of futile attempts to get me to talk about my _emotions_.”

Robin is examining him quizzically but simply shrugs off the whole situation. “Black Canary’s a good therapist. If anyone could make a dent in your attitude, it’s her.”

“I don’t mean to ruin the moment,” Miss M says and they realise she’s brought the blueprints back up. “But other League members might start appearing any minute now and they probably won’t be so willing to let us off the hook.”

“We need a plan.” Superboy agrees, squinting uselessly at the technical annotations. “Any ideas?”

To approximately no one’s surprise, it’s Robin who raises his hand and clears his throat importantly. “Well,” He grins, zooming in on the design. “That’s a _really_ nice cooling system.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team go on their first mission. A lot goes to plan, a lot does not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOH HAS IT BEEN A WHILE. i am so sincerely sorry that this chapter has taken so long but believe me when i say i did not stop thinking about it for a moment. i hate hate HATE writing action so that's why this one's been so tough for me but i've finally reached a place where i'm happy with it.
> 
> enjoy!!

“22 bottles of bored on the wall, 22 bottles of bored! Take one down, toss it around you’ve got 21 bottles of bored on the wall. 21 bottles of bored on the wall-”

If Kid Flash sings another verse, Damian is really considering bringing forward his death by a few years. From the grumpy faces around him, it seems as if the other heroes are of a similar frame of mind.

To begin with, both Robin and Miss Martian had joined in with the repetitive melody and the sound of off-key singing had filled the bioship like a sing-along on a road trip. There’d at least been a joyful vitality to it and Damian had only threatened to rip out their vocal chords and use them to asphyxiate them a few times. Now that Robin and Miss Martian have given up and Kid Flash is nearing the end of his third encore, the irritating song has taken on more of a pathetic strain and the frequent voice cracks hit them like physical battering rams.

“19 bottles of bored on the wall, 19 bottles of bored! Take one down, toss it around you’ve got-”

A sudden fizzle of static cuts off his warblings, that and a round of furious shushing from the other occupants of the ship as they lean forward in tandem to hear whatever the now familiar, weary Gotham accents on the radio have to report:

“Mugging down 22nd street, perp apprehended. Paramedics taking victim to A&E.”

The team deflates gloomily.

“I hope they’re ok.” Miss Martian comments weakly and Kid Flash picks up where he left off.

“18 bottles of bored on the wall. 18 bottles of bored on the wall, 18 bottles of bored…”

They’ve been listening to the Gotham police channel spew out reports of crime for the past two hours, crime they aren’t even able to prevent. Robin has promised that although all official sources state that Mr Freeze is locked up tight in Arkham, there’s been a string of frosted felonies throughout downtown Gotham that are unmistakeably the work of his ice blaster. According to Kid Flash’s calculations and Robin’s experience (one of which Damian trusts much more than the other), he should be due to run out of resources any day now and since there’s little chance of a 7 foot tall convicted criminal wearing a goldfish bowl on his head strolling into the local Walmart to pick up a couple bags of ice cubes, they’re on guard for any and all ice-related offences in the vicinity.

They’ve only had one close call: a burglary alarm going off at an ice rink, but a few seconds later that had inexplicably turned out to be the work of Cat Woman and they’d been back to square one. It’s now nearing noon but no one suggests going back to the mountain, being unable to stomach returning empty handed more than going without lunch.

And Damian hasn’t eaten anything all day, as Kid Flash reminds him, lapsing into a sudden silence half way through ‘7 bottles’. The team have chosen to exclude him from their mind link and Damian knows it’s because of a certain incident involving baked goods that took place before they left Mount Justice.

The Martian makes truly terrible cookies. She has offered to bake some for all of them to get their blood sugar levels up before they left and although Damian would have prepared a fibre-rich cram before going on a mission, he associates cookies purely with the delicious taste of Alfred’s and with trepidation, accepted the proffered biscuit.

He’d taken one bite, felt his teeth sink forebodingly into the doughy middle, and spat it out immediately. They were raw and stodgy at the centre and burnt around the outside and strangely savoury, as if she’d mixed up her salt and sugar.

“Are you trying to poison me?” He’d demanded of the alien, convinced this was some form of vengeance after he had attacked her in the warehouse. Instead of getting angry, she’d simply wilted into herself, mumbled something about human recipes being difficult to follow and flurried out of the kitchen.

How had Damian been supposed to know she was inept but well-intentioned rather than malicious and bitter? He had met few people so unflaggingly eager to please, besides Grayson of course but he had glared at him along with the rest. So great, now Damian’s the bad guy again and he’d felt a poignant cold emptiness in his mind when the heroes had linked up. All throughout their stake out they’d been silently communicating, the pauses in Kid Flash’s singing serving only to remind Damian that he was being purposefully isolated.

He doesn’t _want_ to be mind-melding with these incompetents, for the sake of his own privacy and secrecy, but he loathes their constant displays of mistrust. For one thing it’s hard to work in a team when they all suspect you’ll turn on them at any moment (which had been part of the difficulty co-operating with his father) but more importantly it makes Damian feel incapable. He knows that his ability to work with others is a weakness; every school report he’s received in the past year and a half have attested so and although he stands by the fact that he works best alone (with a very slim exception), this is not always realistic in the superhero business.

It’s fine, advisable even, to be a lone assassin. Being a lone hero can get you killed.

So he has been, to the best of his knowledge, fairly agreeable towards these sidekicks. He hasn’t made too many remonstrances against working with them and threatened them with grievous bodily harm even less. What more could they possible want from him? He can work well with Grayson… after nearly 2 years of painstaking bonding.

“1 bottle of bored on the wall, 1 bottle of bored! Take one down toss it around, you’ve got-” Kid Flash cuts himself off again and Damian is just about to finally demand what it is they’re discussing that cannot be said aloud when he realises the radio has flickered to life once more.

“Break in reported at an ice sculpture shop off of West Avenue.”

“That sounds promising.” Artemis says, and Damian feels the beat of his heart strengthen, the blood pumping through his limbs and tingling up and down his muscles.

They listen for the address and then the report ends with a short: “ETA for squad deployment: half an hour.”

“Half an hour?” Superboy echoes , frowning. “The place will be picked clean by then.”

“Welcome to Gotham.” Robin and Damian say in unison and then glare at each other.

“Don’t copy me.” Damian snaps.

“Don’t copy me.” Robin mimics in a sing-song voice. “And you’re right, Superboy, but luckily for Proprietor Ice Sculpture, they won’t need to wait that long.”

“Oh man!” Kid Flash says, enthusiastically slinging an arm around his best friend’s shoulder. “Finally! Some action.”

Damian is of a similar mind. He has a lot of internal rage and would love some criminal scum to misdirect it at.

“Team, let’s go.” Aqualad orders, and one by one they leap out of the ship.

Robin leads the charge and although part of Damian wishes it was him at the head of the pack as they leap across the rooftops, this isn’t the Gotham he remembers. Some things are the same, he recognises a neon fast food sign advertising Batman burgers which he’d made a point to shatter the last time he was in this part of Gotham, but so many others aren’t. Robin has to stop him from leaping off an apartment building into open air when he discovers the fire escape has been replaced with a drainage pipe.

“Get traught, man, you can’t fly with a broken wing.” He’d warned him and then, inexplicably, added: “Batman will want you back in one piece, won’t he?”

Damian still doesn’t know how to feel about that but the intense look on his young partner’s face makes him think he was saying more than just ‘be careful’.

The skyline quivers before him like a faulty heartbeat. They’ve built whole new skyscrapers with logos he’s never seen before. Of course, that’s not so striking in Gotham. Conglomerates come and go like the turning of the seasons.

The little street on which the shop is situated is already quiet when they arrive, but upon seeing the heroes, any remaining civilians flee.

“What?” Kid Flash says, standing in the middle of the street and holding out his arms as if waiting for a hug. “No cheers for the valiant heroes? That’s like… 99% of why I signed up for this gig!”

“Would you stand around cheering if you knew the Joker might be nearby?” Damian demands, and even at the name a chill dances up his spine. He looks up and down the neat, grim road of little shops and houses and tries not to imagine a tell-tale laugh echoing down it. Damian is not scared of villains on principle but the Joker… he’s a different breed entirely.

“The Joker’s in Arkham though, right?” Miss Martian says nervously.

There’s a sudden crash and a shriek from down the street, accompanied by the unmistakeable sound of ice crackling, fracturing through the air like breaking bones.

“And so is Mr Freeze.” Aqualad says grimly. “But I doubt that’s Cat Woman.”

“She’d never make such a mess.” Damian says, lip curling in disdain. “Now what are we waiting for? The Justice League?” His legs practically move of their own accord as he sprints towards the sound of the destruction, the sidekicks scrambling to keep up behind him.

The ice sculpture shop might once have been a pretty little establishment but now it looks as if it has been ransacked by a small army. The door is hanging listlessly off its hinges, the windows have been reduced to jagged spikes of glass and most disturbingly of all is the decapitated Robin statue standing pride of place at the centre of the shop’s display.

The head has been almost neatly blasted away, the execution clean and spiteful. The R on its chest is just beginning to perspire in the dingy Gotham sunlight. Damian doesn’t think he can feel more nauseous until he takes a step forward and watches Batman’s face crunch beneath his boot.

Instantly the sickness transforms into fury. Mr Freeze was one of the rogues from his world that had attacked himself and Batman. He had been one of the villains bearing down on Grayson as Damian had been tugged helplessly away into this nightmarish realm of yesteryear. If he has placed one frostbitten digit on Damian’s partner…

He growls lowly and it is at this moment that Robin and the rest of his team catch up. He sends one distressed look at his own beheaded self and then a warning glare at his younger counterpart.

“Robin.” He orders in a low voice. “Don’t you dare.”

He sounds so much like the Grayson Damian knows that he almost listens to him. Except he’s buoyed on by a wave of rage and the thrill of oncoming combat and he doesn’t do half the things Grayson tells him to anyway so he charges into the shop.

“Robin!” Aqualad chastises and Damian acknowledges the sound of their feet pounding after him as he draws his repossessed escrima sticks and looks warily around the interior.

He’s entered a small reception area blasted entirely to bits by huge starbursts of ice that gleam almost ethereally in the shivering artificial lights. The linoleum floor is littered with glass and errant cents from the upturned cash register. There’s a large poster along one wall advertising various ice sculpture options from the classic gala swan to almost every member of the Justice League.

Grayson would get a kick out of having a Superman ice figure at the next party Wayne manor hosts, Damian thinks, but what should be a pleasant thought only incenses him further. He hates those stupid events and yet now he doesn’t know if he’ll ever attend one again.

“We need a plan!” The Atlantean continues, pulling up to and yanking Damian round to face him but it is at this moment that his eye catches on quivering head of hair, like the body of a petrified rodent, peeking up from beneath the shop’s counter.

“I have a plan.” Damian snarls. He marches over to the desk and yanks the shop owner up by his wrist, revealing the cowering form of a skinny middle-aged man who stares at them with eyes the size of saucers. “You five can escort the _civilian_ ,” Damian gives the man a little shake to punctuate his point and he yelps in terror. “Off the premises. I’ll hunt down and obliterate Mr Freeze.”

“Batman?” The shop owner whispers in awe.

“Do I look like Batman to you?” Damian snorts but he’s very privately flattered and misses Robin’s flinch.

“All five of us?” Kid Flash protests.

Damian raises an eyebrow behind the mask. “We’re acting as a team, correct? Isn’t it customary to delegate roles of responsibility? That is, unless you’re incapable of it…”

“Incapable!?” Artemis says, cutting herself off with a furious growl. She marches over to the desk, yanks the shop owner from Damian’s grip (who looks no less pleased to be in the custody of an equally terrifying saviour) and pushes him towards the door. “Scram!” She barks and dusts off her hands as he scurries thankfully into the street. “There. Civilian escorted from the premises. Now get the hell off your high horse and we’ll go and _interrogate_ Mr Freeze, not _obliterate_.”

Damian is momentarily taken aback. The look in Artemis’ eyes is almost savage when they meet his. There’s something familiar in the way she holds herself, the force with which she moves, almost desperately. It reminds him of himself when the old programming kicks in. “Fine.” He concedes reluctantly, feeling the more violently motivating anger burn away like alcohol, leaving behind a faint simmer. “But try not to get in my way.”

This time he leads the team as they enter the shop’s storage room, a large, cavernous space which is dimly lit and freezing cold. It’s almost entirely taken up by large shelves upon which malformed ice sculptures cast frankensteinian shadows. The walls are lined with frost. Damian watches his own breath unfurl from his mouth like a ghost.

Somewhere deeper within the maze of shelves and ice he thinks he can hear heavy shuffling and make out the dim outline of a figure, like the silhouette of some colossal rat or a monster your mind might conjure from the shadows. Luckily Damian grew out of his fear of the dark years ago.

He takes a step forward and yells into the dinge “Victor Fries! So you have been reduced now to petty thievery. Show yourself you yellow-bellied thug! Come out here and fight me!”

“Well, well, well.” Comes a deep, velvety voice and the mound Damian had identified rises slowly to an impressive height, the dome of his head becoming visible. “Who might you be, child?” Slowly Mr Freeze emerges from the richest shadows and into the thin light, his pallid blue features carved into a sneer, his metal armour frosted over. “I wasn’t aware Batman was in the market for a second sidekick. And with the first still breathing, no less.”

“Mr Fries, we did not come here to harm you.” Aqualad says, even though Damian absolutely did. “We just want some information.”

“That’s what the police told me,” Freeze’s lip curls into a snarl. “Before they threw me into Arkham Asylum. I’d have had more chance escaping harm in the frozen wastes of the Arctic than that hellhole.”

“And yet you stand before us,” Robin says. “Shockingly unharmed! So how come, Freeze? Who slipped you a key?”

Mr Freeze’s suit gives a sudden hiss, expelling a cloud of steam. In the tense quiet, it sounds like a snake preparing to strike.

“Answer my question first.” He says, turning his attention back to Damian. “Who are you, boy? Has Gotham gained a new birdbrain?”

“You should know very well who I am!” Damian says savagely, raising his weapons in challenge. “You built part of the machine that brought me here.”

For a moment Mr Freeze’s smug smile cracks, his mouth dropping open in awe. “Then it worked.” He says, sounding genuinely amazed.

“A little too well for you.” Damian says through gritted teeth.

Mr Freeze’s cold exterior returns in the blink of an eye, his arrogant pleasure only appearing to deepen. “Then there’s no hope for the Justice League.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Robin asks, taking a confrontational step forward but glancing suspiciously at Damian.

Mr Freeze simply laughs, the arrogant mockery in his voice causing them all to stir in irritation.

“I said what’s that supposed to mean?” Robin repeats.

Mr Freeze’s chuckle comes to a leisurely stop and he mimes wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “It means, thing 1, that the Justice League has finally met its match. Wonder Woman, Superman, _Batman_ … they’re as good as dead.”

The words take less than a second to register before Damian lets out a roar of anguished fury and charges. Mr Freeze aims his blaster but he is faster than the roiling blast of ice. He ducks and zig zags to avoid the lazy path of its blaze and leaps up, a strong sense of déjà vu bolstering his strength as he brings down his escrima stick hard on Freeze’s helmet and watches it fracture. As he leaps back, he drags a birdarang down the rogue’s armour and feels a satisfying sense of triumph when it catches in a chink and explodes, sending him staggering and clutching in pain at his torso.

To Damian’s further ire, he’s still sneering when his head resurfaces. “My, that is an upgrade.” He says silkily. “Where did Batman pick you up? The local pound?”

In response, Robin appears out of nowhere and lands on Freeze’s helmet, tugging him downward with all his strength for Kid Flash to trip him up. He lands with an earth-shaking thud and a groan, only to cry out in horror as he’s telekinetically slammed into the wall. It would be a successful takedown, only when Mr Freeze is dropped one of his flailing legs lashes out at Damian and sends him flying, knocking his head against one of the icebergs created by the villain’s blaster with a strength that knocks all the breath from his body.

“Robin!” Miss Martian’s voice floats shrilly into one ear, but it’s almost entirely drowned out by a deafening ringing and the strange sensation of the smooth ice beneath his head, cheek and fingers swiftly replaced by cold and piercing pain.

“-Tt-” Damian groans, bringing up a hand to touch the afflicted section of his skull and being unsurprised to find it smeared with blood. It occurs to him how ironic it is that a being of such theoretical mental power can still have a head so full of air.

He allows himself ten seconds of recuperation as the blasts of cobalt light and cries of battle regain their clarity and the bolt of pain is reduced to a dull ache. As if from a dream, the red, yellow and greens of Robin cartwheel across his vision and slowly achieve a defined, clear form. He observes as he narrowly avoids a blast of Freeze’s ice gun and grapples out of sight.

His absence fills Damian with a sudden distress worse than the pain in his head. It doesn’t register momentarily that this Grayson isn’t the same as the one he abandoned in the warehouse. He doesn’t want to lose track of him in battle again. That is the thought that binds his scattered head together and propels him shakily to his feet.

Kid Flash and Superboy have been frozen to a wall and Aqualad and Miss Martian are attempting desperately to get them free. Artemis is defending them, shooting arrow after arrow at the advancing form of Mr Freeze but they seem to do little more than irritate him. Robin suddenly swings out of nowhere, aiming for the villain’s helmet which will only take one good kick more to shatter it, but a massive, armoured hand grasps his legs and slams him unforgivingly into the ground. He gives a rasp of pain but rolls to his feet in a movement so fluid, you’d think he was dancing. A moment later, Freeze’s boot cracks the concrete where his head would have been, the same way Damian’s boot had crunched through the face of Batman.

Robin is holding himself with a noticeable hunch, but spits a globule of blood from his mouth and forces a fantastic grin. Silently, Damian draws two smoke bombs from his utility belt and just as his partner appears to be readying himself to leap back into the fray, he crushes them against the ground.

The smoke spreads like wildfire, obscuring every dingy corner of the room and leaving figures barely distinguishable. There are cries of distress that echo around the chamber but Damian feels the billowing smog surround him in a veil of calm. His instincts are never wrong and to defer to them now fills him with confidence. Mr Freeze may not know it yet, but Damian has become the hunter and he has become the prey.

“Robin!” The villain’s voice bellows and Damian’s ears prick. “Show yourself, or I’ll freeze your little friends."

The threat barely registers; instead he listens hard for the scrape of Freeze’s armour, the rustling of his movement, the pant of his breath within the hamster ball of his helmet. He visualises his target, pinpointing his stance, the speed of his heart, the sweat freezing down his back, all without opening his eyes. Once he’s created a clear image in his mind’s eye, he pounces.

The whipping of his cape is the only sound as he darts through the fog, the fin of a shark rising from a placid sea. Freeze’s cumbersome form looms out of the smoke, but Damian treats it with the apathy you would a cliff face. Drawing his arm back, he serves a deafening strike to the back of his knees and quietly savours the grunt of alarm that follows, though not enough to slow his spring backwards or the splayed hand that releases explosive pellets with enough force to blast away sections of his armour.

What happens next is a massacre fit for a small army, let alone one hypothermic engineer in a glorified spacesuit. Damian batters his arms and legs, using his birdarangs to lacerate the soft spots and his escrima sticks to deflect any movements of resistance. He can hear himself growling and snarling with an amalgamation of rage and violent pleasure: the terrific thrill that occurs at the culmination of the hunt.

More pleasingly, he fights like Robin. The cape is practically an extension of himself. He senses the weightlessness of flight with every jump and doesn’t shy from the flips and showy frippery that has become so natural. He’s having _fun_. Once the smoke clears, the team don’t even attempt to intervene: they simply stand, open-mouthed, and watch the show.

It’s a disappointment when it comes to an end. Mr Freeze’s deadly mistake is attempting to use his ice blaster, aiming it wildly at Damian only to have him flip the muzzle and pull the trigger. A brilliant blast of ice shoots Mr Freeze directly in the face and he staggers blindly, clawing at his helmet.

“Robin!” Artemis cries, and he turns to see she has three arrows aimed and ready to shoot. She’s asking his permission to work together.

“Fire!” Damian orders and a volley of arrows hit Mr Freeze’s chest. He uses the momentum to send the goliath crumpling to the ground with one final, neat kick to the kneecaps.

Within seconds the team has converged on the fallen villain. Robin grabs the ice blaster and uses it to freeze his hands and feet to the floor. He then tosses it to Superboy who breaks it over his knee. Damian feels a flicker of regret at the destruction of what he now sees as a converted instrument of destruction but it is gratifying to see the despicable rogue so helpless, pinned to the floor and weaponless.

He scampers onto his breastplate, ensuring to plant his boot into one of the manufactured chinks in the armour, and looks down on Mr Freeze’s enraged, defeated face.

“I think it’s time we had a friendly talk.” He says, drawing a birdarang and inspecting its razor-sharp edge.

Mr Freeze gulps but there must be some modicum of pride left in his petrified heart; either that or self-preservation meaning whoever they’re dealing with is even scarier than Damian could possibly be right now having stamped this scum into the dirt. “I can’t tell you anything.”

“I think you can.” Aqualad says lowly. “Or you can at least be persuaded to.”

Damian gives a quick flick of his wrist and the birdarang imbeds itself into the concrete an inch from Mr Freeze’s domed head.

“Alright! Alright.” He amends, eyes flitting around like a cornered rabbit’s. “But you must understand that I don’t know much. I was supposed to be given more information if the plan was a success.” His nose wrinkles in disgust. “Clearly it was not.”

“You mean the machine wasn’t intended to travel across multiverses?” Robin asks.

“It wasn’t intended to transport some Bat brat with anger issues.” He says icily. “But yes, it was supposed to access another multiverse. I was told to design a nuclear-grade cooling system with my freedom and 10,000 as a deposit and triple that if the thing worked.”

“Told by whom.” Damian presses.

“Some… some creepy guy who appeared in my cell.” Mr Freeze blunders. “In a black suit with a… a cat.”

This description means little to Damian but the other team members gasp.

“Did he give a name?” Miss Martian asks urgently.

“No.” He answers. “He laughed when I asked who he was. Called himself some puffed up title…like Baron of evil…or…”

“Lord of Chaos.” Robin supplies soberly but it’s more of a statement than a question. “Then we were right. They are back.”

“Who are back?” Damian asks, feeling a hopeful fire ignite in his chest at finally having some affirmed answers.

“We’ll explain later.” Robin says. He’s frowning and avoiding Damian’s eyes, which is even more infuriating than the evasiveness of his answer.

“You will explain now.” He orders, unconsciously pressing down harder on Mr Freeze’s injuries and causing him to wheeze out a laugh.

“Trouble in paradise, Boy-Wonders?” He says mockingly. “Whatever happened to the dynamic duo?”

It’s a weak barb but appears to strike a nerve in both of them. Damian punches the already fractured glass of Freeze’s helmet , finally shattering it and if it weren’t for Kid Flash’s arm holding him back, Robin probably would have done the same.

“Robin!” Aqualad says sharply. “Both of you!”

Mr Freeze is choking on the air, blue features rapidly turning purple before the Atlantian freezes over the hole. He gives a shuddering gasp and glares at Damian with new loathing, struggling futilely against his frozen bonds and Miss Martian’s telekinetic strength holding him down.

“You snot-nosed demon.” He hisses.

“Be more creative.” Damian spits. “I’ve heard that one before.” With carefully painful steps, he clambers off of Mr Freeze’s chest to join the other sidekicks who all look at him with mingling wonder and uncertainty, perhaps even with a little bit of fear. “Well?” He asks impatiently. “Are we going to call the police or will I be forced to drag this cretin all the way to Arkham Asylum?”

They call the police.

Damian hides on a nearby rooftop so as not to deal with the hassle of explaining two Robins to the Gotham police department, especially as Jim Gordon arrives in order to verify Freeze’s escape from and return to Arkham. Robin feeds them some bullshit cover story which they’re all too weary to question besides the Police Commissioner himself, and even he is eventually worn down by the Boy-Wonder’s impenetrable cheery façade. Mr Freeze is handcuffed, sedated and packed into the back of a van on a one-way trip to Arkham Asylum with the promise of a much securer cell with stronger padded walls.

The shop owner reappears at one point but his babblings about two Robins are taken as hysteria. He’s given a shock blanket and escorted calmly away from the scene of the crime, still demanding to know what happened to the ‘little angry one’.

Damian watches them pull away and can’t help from noticing the red head in the passenger seat of the Gordon’s cruiser. Barbara Gordon surveys the scene with a lazy indifference so unlike the usual alertness she maintains as Oracle, barely giving Robin a second glance and most tellingly of all, kicking her feet up onto the car’s dashboard. This is almost certainly pre-Bat Girl Barbara Gordon and definitely pre-Oracle. It’s chilling to witness her mobility and know how it’ll soon be taken from her. Damian almost wishes he could swoop down and tell her father not to sweep her legs off of the dashboard, to let her use them however she pleases whilst she still can.

He’s beginning to feel the appeal of changing the future.

He dismisses the mutinous thoughts and allows the cars to roll out with only a small tug of regret. He then agilely flits down to ground level to stand with the other heroes.

“I’m expecting an explanation.” He says, which causes a chain reaction of awkward stillness and silence. “And I can tell when you’re communicating over mindlink.” He adds, causing them to sheepishly break focus. “Haven’t I proven my trustworthiness to you? I feel we cannot work effectively together if you will not disclose all information to me.”

“Work effectively?” Kid Flash says, crossing his arms indignantly. “Dude, you were a total loose cannon in there! I mean, don’t get me wrong the way you took down Mr Freeze…” He trails off with a long, impressed whistle. “But you can’t go charging off threatening to obliterate people. That’s not how a team works.”

“I am aware of that.” Damian concedes. “I am not used to working in a team. Working with Batman is one thing,” He looks to Robin for support but he’s stubbornly studying his wrist computer. “It’s a partnership, built on mutual understanding and goals.” If anything, this only makes Robin’s frown deepen. “But functioning in a team like this is more complicated. It requires a level of empathy and compromise that I find…challenging.” Damian doesn’t think he can say any more without appearing emotionally vulnerable but luckily most of the team seem to appreciate the snippet of honesty.

“I get that.” Superboy admits. “When I first started out in this team, I also had difficulty getting along with people. I guess all I can say is that it gets better.”

“Human boundaries are complicated.” Miss Martian agrees. “Even now I still have trouble understanding them.”

 _The cookies were a misunderstanding_ , Damian considers saying, but he doubts his pride can take that much of a beating.

“Yeah,” Artemis says and again when they lock eyes Damian feels strangely… seen. “Gaining people’s trust is never easy. It can be long and tedious but once you get there, it’s nice to have someone watching your back.”

“Indeed.” Aqualad says. “And besides a slightly rocky start, I believe by the end of this mission we were watching each other’s backs.”

Damian can’t help but look at Robin but he still doesn’t say anything, his mouth having paled into a thin, hard line whilst the team were dispensing their sappy anecdotes. He realises he wants something from him, something to affirm that he’s still watching Damian’s back the way he always has, but the air between them remains frigid as if they haven’t left the ice sculpture warehouse.

“Your words are appreciated.” Damian elects to say eventually. “I hope that our future co-operations will be productive and profitable.”

“They will not.” Comes a familiar, gruff growl from behind him and Damian watches as the expressions on his team’s face turn from happy pride to abject horror. Robin in particular looks paralysed in the sudden shadow that engulfs them and it takes all of Damian’s willpower to turn and face the unwelcome figure that has so soured their success.

The Batman looms over them, his body entirely swallowed by the swathes of his cloak and his mouth set into the grimmest scowl Damian has ever witnessed; and he has witnessed many scowls.

“Commissioner Gordon called.” He says, and if possible his expression becomes even more furious. “I’m expecting an explanation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> read!! leave a comment!! drop a kudos!! let's all celebrate the fact that neither i nor this fic are dead!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian and the team return to Mount Justice and Artemis provides a heart-to-heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woop de doo folks i really enjoyed writing this one after the ugggh action of the last one  
> i hope everyone is in character! i tried my very best!!

For the second time Damian enters Mount Justice under guard.

Only this time, his guards have become his fellow prisoners. Although Damian was the only one handcuffed and disarmed (he’d rolled his eyes at the futility of the gesture: as if he couldn’t still kill them 20 different ways with his hands tied behind his back), there was no broach for argument in Batman’s tone as he’d ordered the team back to the base and the heroes awaiting them on the other side of the zeta beams eerily resemble an assembled court.

The sight of so many disapproving role-models is almost too much for Miss Martian, who was already distressed that she’d been forced to leave her bioship in Gotham. She gives a loud sniffle but stoutly refuses to brush away the unshed tears gathering in her eyes, an act that would have almost impressed Damian if she hadn’t then clutched Superboy’s stupid, muscled bicep a moment later.

Where’s Drake when you need him? At least he has the decency to rebuff the Krypto-clone’s advances in the field. God Damian hates it here.

Robin had appeared more composed, back straight and gaze unflinching as any hardened soldier, but his resolve wavers any time Batman looks at him, chin dipping downwards as if tugged by an invisible magnet. Damian can’t remember ever seeing Grayson _scared_ of his father but he undeniably is now, or at least of what he’ll do. Damian can’t entirely scoff at his weakness. He too feels a strong sense of trepidation at the reckoning to come.

It’s the same heroes who greeted Damian the first time he entered the Mountain who await them now and he feels a syrupy sense of having taken one step forward and two steps backward at the redundant familiarity of the situation.

It’s quickly replaced by an acute flame of rage as he spots Black Canary hovering uneasily near the back of the pack.

“You.” He snarls, lunging forward and only just restrained by Artemis’ quick hold. “You duplicitous, underhanded vixen! What do you have to say in defence of your deceit?”

Black Canary looks more than displeased but somehow Damian feels it isn’t at the insults he’s hurling her way. “Robin, I promise you, I wasn’t the one who informed Batman of your whereabouts.” She tells him, casting sidelong looks to her fellow heroes. “I couldn’t tell you who did.”

“Commissioner Gordon.” Batman answers gruffly, pulling up from behind the disgraced sidekicks to stand opposite them and glare with all his might. He’s radiating so much darkness that Flash takes a nervous step away from him. “He was concerned as to why an unsupervised team of minors were apprehending a dangerous criminal in broad daylight.”

“Busybody.” Kid Flash mumbles and then quails just as pathetically as his mentor when Batman inclines his head in his direction.

“He was right to inform me,” He growls. “Since you were fighting an escaped Arkham inmate with the help of a League _prisoner_ -”

“If I am a prisoner then I demand to know what charges you detain me under!” Damian snaps, straining once more against Artemis’ grip. “I have done nothing to present myself as a threat to your ennobled Spanish Inquisition! If my Batman were here-”

“There is no ‘your Batman’.” Batman cuts him off with a bark. “I’m the only Batman this world has and I intend to protect it from all threats by any means necessary.”

“I may be a threat to your fragile authority, but a threat to the entire dimension is unfolding right under your nose,” Damian reminds him. “And you choose to expend pointless energy on chasing myself and your own sidekicks around Gotham whilst we attempt to solve it?”

“We have no proof of a deeper conspiracy.” Batman insists. “Besides your word.”

“Yes we do.” Aqualad says, stepping forward to stand beside Damian.

“Kaldur-” Black Canary begins.

“No, you need to listen to us.” He says. “We apprehended Mr Freeze today and he provided us with plenty of evidence that backs up this Robin’s story.”

“So we also have the word of a criminal?” Flash asks cynically.

“Klarion appeared in his cell.” Robin says, and just as it had in the ice store room, the name sends a shiver of recognition through the ranks of the heroes. “He bribed Mr Freeze with his freedom and over $10,000 to design him a nuclear-grade cooling system. He himself said it was designed to access another dimension.”

Martian Manhunter frowns sombrely. “That is certainly something to look into.”

“But we can’t be certain he wasn’t just saying what he thought you wanted to hear.” Superman points out. “I mean, he’s in Arkham Asylum for a reason.”

“Another thing I wanted to discuss.” Batman says the word discuss the way another man might say dissect. “Robin. You know Mr Freeze. You know how dangerous the villains of Gotham can be to those who aren’t familiar with them. You did not know to what extent he was weaponised and yet you chose to lead your team into an altercation with him.”

Robin looks disturbed, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him, but he holds his ground. “I have faith in our abilities. That’s more than I can say of you.”

“You put them in danger.”

“You’re putting us all in danger by refusing to accept the threat right in front of you!” Robin says furiously. “In favour of micromanaging our team.”

“I’m protecting you. And your team.” Batman says and Damian doesn’t know if he’s hearing things but some vestige of the protectiveness appears to have returned, bizarrely warped so that it’s both in Robin’s defence and attacking him. “You don’t handle things like wide scale criminal operations. That’s up to the League.”

“But the Light’s back.” Kid Flash says sharply, piercing through their monomachy. There’s a restless silence and Damian realises this is the elusive taboo they’ve been dancing around since he arrived. He can’t take being in the dark any longer.

“I demand an explanation.” He says. “Who is this Klarion? Who are the Light?”

The sidekicks look at him with trepidation. The Leaguers almost look embarrassed. In the end, it’s Robin who elaborates in a tight, foreboding tone.

“You remember the Riddler’s riddle? I am everywhere but you cannot see me. I am touching you but you cannot feel me. I reveal everything but have no substance to be revealed. What am I?”

The answer hits Damian like a sudden beam of sun. “Light. That’s the answer to the riddle. The Riddler from my world is working for this…Light?”

Robin nods grimly. “The Light are a criminal alliance who aim to eliminate the League. They think heroes are protecting people from the things humanity needs to evolve, like crime and natural disaster.” His face scrunches up in genuine disgust. “Their leader, Vandal Savage, essentially proposes a cull of the weak on his terms. He wants earth to become the strongest planet in the universe by any means necessary.” He then adds meaningfully. “Perhaps even the strongest planet in the dimension.”

“Would they have the resources to so vastly accelerate the developments of human technology?” Damian wonders. He is certain he does not recognise this organisation from his world.

“Their influence extends nearly everywhere.” Superboy explains. “They have one foot in Cadmus, another amongst the elements of Chaos and Order. That’s where Klarion comes in: he’s a Lord of Chaos.”

“Of all the meaningless monikers.” Damian rolls his eyes. “Lord of Chaos indeed.”

“Don’t underestimate them.” Artemis warns him. “At the beginning of the year they nearly succeeded in a full League take over. All the League members were infected with mind-control bio-tech chips and if it weren’t for _us_ , they would have used them to seize control of first the League and then the world.”

“ _We_ stopped them.” Kid Flash reiterates. “And if they’re back, we can stop them again.”

“You should have never been placed in that position.” Superman says. “You stepped up when we were indisposed and we’re grateful for that but you’re just kids.”

“We’re not kids!” Robin protests.

“Then quit acting like them.” Batman barks, a whole new dimension of anger present in his voice. “The real problem here is that you let a potential clone loose in Gotham with no regard to the consequences if you were _wrong_. You’ve proven you can’t be trusted to act objectively in this case. You’re all benched and this time the entire might of the Justice League will come down on the Light.” He clenches a fist to punctuate his point and then turns a glare on Damian that crushes his breath just as violently. “And you. We had a deal.”

“We had no such thing.” He retorts. “The audacity! You knocked me out and imprisoned me!”

“Imprisoned is such a strong word.” Red Tornado drones. “You escaped, didn’t you?”

“Besides the point.” Damian says through gritted teeth. “I have no interest in your personal vendettas or you clone paranoia. My only agenda is to return home and yet you have abetted and condemned me at every turn, acting as a ball and chain around my ankle.”

“Robin, I hate to say it, but all this could be solved if you simply provided a DNA sample.” Black Canary reminds him gently but now even the kindest coercions have become unbearable to him.

“I will not repeat myself again!” He says. “The exposure of my civilian identity would prove a battering ram to the stability of our dimension. Believe it or not, I am Robin. I will not allow myself to become accountable for the loss of potentially billions of lives.”

“Then it appears we are at a stalemate.” Batman says. “Because as much as I am a ball and chain to you, I cannot proceed when I fear there may be a sleeper agent in our midst.”

Batman does the only thing that Damian could not have possibly seen coming next: he attacks him.

For one shameful moment, Damian is paralysed. Out of context the figure charging towards him, draped in black and moving with the sleek grace of a predator, would look exactly like Grayson and the very idea of the man who apologises when he knocks him down too hard during sparring and insists on calling him lil D bearing down on him with such ferocity entirely immobilises him. Grayson would never hurt him. He would never strike him to inflict pain. Somehow the very sight of him has eroded Damian’s carefully established fight or (more seldom) flight reflexes.

He barely dodges the first blow. He doesn’t dodge the second, and although all it does is knock him off his feet, it also knocks some sense into him. This. Is. Not. Grayson. He is not here. It is just Damian and Damian is Robin. He doesn’t know what Batman is trying to do, but he will not be fooled into striking lethally or losing his temper.

“Batman, stand down.” He says, ducking to avoid a fist and hearing the gasps of shock and horror from the other heroes.

“Batman!” Robin calls and out of the corner of his eye Damian can see him dithering uselessly, torn between sticking to his guns and interceding on Damian’s behalf and disobeying his mentor. That’s fine. Damian would rather he weren’t involved. It would be difficult to defend both of them.

Instead he focuses on defending himself from Batman, whose hits are coming thick and fast but not with the strength and skill he knows he’s capable of.

“Don’t hold back on my account!” Damian cries, executing a perfect flip that loops his legs through his bound arms and brings them to his front, allowing at least limited access to his hands. “But I am not your enemy. I would rather talk than scrap like wild dogs.”

Batman merely hurls a batarang at him and Damian takes that as his cue to draw his knife, using his fingers to grip it carefully between his bound hands. This time he goes on the offensive, the knife moving through the air like a silver fluid to slash and stab at Batman’s armour. Several times he makes thin, hairline cuts in the Kevlar and though it doesn’t inflict any pain, Damian likes to think of what it would do if he had been exerting adequate force. Lacerated femur, impaled sternum, grazed bicep…

Elsewhere he thinks the team might be fighting the other Leaguers but he’s only vaguely aware of their raised voices. In fact, everything else seems to slip away into ambiguity in the background of the battle. Batman is still holding back, softening his blows and refusing to fight with more than his fists, but he’s a more than worthy opponent and secretly Damian is enjoying this, the opportunity to inadvertently prove himself to his father. He continually calls for Batman to stop, to think about what he’s doing, that Damian isn’t a threat, but it has no effect. He remains driven and quietly furious and Damian is just beginning to consider ways he might knock him unconscious when the purpose of the sudden attack becomes clear.

It was a distraction.

All Damian feels is a light breeze that makes the hairs stand up on the back of his neck and the lightest pressure on his wounded head before it is all over. He hooks one foot around Batman’s ankle and sends him crashing to the ground, with the knife raised over his chest but he realises in an instant that he’s lost. It was a distraction. The whole thing was a distraction.

Flash is holding aloft a q-tip topped with a tiny pinprick of red which he then slots securely into a testube. He looks triumphant but also grave, as if he hadn’t wanted it to come to this. Any means necessary, Batman had said.

Damian feels as if every drop of blood has been drained form his body leaving him numb and tingling. The knife shakes in his hands, dipping erratically towards Batman’s chest and then being raised up again.

“Give that to me.” He hisses. “Right now. Or I will plunge this into his heart.”

Flash gulps, grip slackening slightly on the test tube, but to Damian’s despair, Miss Martian sees this as her time to interrupt.

“Robin,” She says, voice soft and horrified. “This isn’t you. Put the knife down.”

There’s a moment of tense paralysis, the only movement the shivering of the blade and Damian’s heaving chest. Eventually, with a snarl of disgust, he tosses the knife away.

Batman is out from beneath him in an instant and Miss Martian and the rest of the team rushes to his side. She reaches out a hand to touch him in some pointless, comforting way but Artemis stops her and Damian is glad of it. He might have instinctively struck and he doesn’t need to look any more deadly and deranged.

“You fool.” He says, softly at first but increasing in volume as he feels the anger rise in him, mercury in a thermometer. “You thoughtless imbecile! Do you have any conception of the catastrophic consequences your paranoid meddling will have? You have no clue what you’re dealing with! It is beyond your witless comprehension as to the chaos you are going to unleash!”

Batman looks at him, all trace of emotion purged from his face. “I cannot investigate whilst you act like my ball and chain. Miss Martian?”

This time it takes seconds for Damian to assemble his mental fortifications but no assault of them occurs. Miss Martian instead _glares_ at Batman, curling her delicate green hands into fists.

“I will not.” She says.

If Batman is surprised he does not let it show. “Fine. Martian Manhunter.”

A far less elegant pressure than the one he’d earlier felt now presses itself against Damian’s mind. He strains against it, feeling beads of sweat roll down his cheeks and neck, his sheer force of will sustaining him. The force increases. There’s a grimace on Martian Manhunter’s face, somewhere between effort and pity. Grayson’s voice swims in and out of his ears as thoughtlessly as a leaf in a stream. He’s shouting at Batman.

But Damian is weary again. The physical pain in his head throbs and the mental shudders that wrack him are beginning to hit like material blows. With one final last hybrid of a sob and roar of exertion, he gives in and finds himself succumbing to the inky darkness of his own unconscious mind.

When Damian awakes, he can tell that not much time has passed and he’s alert immediately. He’s lying on a soft, elevated surface and his hands remain tied. Above him the high, rocky ceiling reveals that he’s not back in his pseudo-cell and so he leaps to his feet, his whole body instantly injected with pacing fury.

“Woah there, buckaroo!” Comes the irritating whine of Kid Flash. “Take a chill pill. You’re in the rec room, the rest of the Leaguers are gone.”

He’s in a cavernous room with several plush, red couches and a huge flat screen TV. There’s an en suite kitchen sectioned off by a half wall that somewhat resembles a war zone, no doubt the result of Miss Martian’s telekinesis being unleashed on the unsuspecting ingredients. The members of the team are perched on various surfaces around him and it unsettles Damian when he notices that Robin is sitting placidly on one of the sofas. In such a large room, he should be hanging from the rafters or at least arranged impractically on the coffee table. Instead he’s deathly still with his elbows balanced on his knees and his eyes trained on the ground.

“Gone?” Damian demands. “Gone where? Tell me this instant!”

“Uh… we don’t know.” Kid Flash answers nervously. It strikes Damian for the first time that although he’s still in uniform, he and the others (besides Robin, naturally) have removed their masks and are observing him with glum, resigned eyes. “They all left after Martian Manhunter knocked you out. Well, all except Batman.” He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “He tore us a new one.”

“Not that we care, obviously.” Miss Martian says defensively. She and Artemis are sitting where Damian had been asleep moments before, as if they had been holding vigil over him. “Not after he _attacked_ you. What was he thinking?” She sounds genuinely scandalised and from the nods of agreement from the rest of the team, they must be too.

To be honest, it doesn’t bother Damian much at all. There has been a mental struggle between himself and his father far more bloody and violent than the one that physically took place for a long time. In fact, he wishes Batman had hit him harder. Even fighting him, he holds back against Damian.

“Where’s the DNA sample?” He elects to say instead, cutting to the core of his anger and anxiety. “Have they taken it to the med bay for testing?”

An ominous silence ensues as the sidekicks eye each other reluctantly, all clearly waiting for someone else to break the news. It’s Robin who pipes up.

“Batman sent it back to the cave. Agent A’s running analysis on it as we speak and B’s disabled the zeta tubes. It’s gone. You’re not getting it back.” Having said his piece, he slumps dejectedly in his seat, hands behind his head.

“That… that is unacceptable.” Damian blusters. His mind races to come up with a solution. There’s no way he and Grayson can’t fix this. “Surely there is some way to win Agent A over to our side… or perhaps you could hack the zeta beams…”

“What did I say?” Robin snaps, but he doesn’t move from his position of surrender. “I said we’ve lost. We’re off the case. Just leave it. Batman isn’t listening to anyone.”

“And you do exactly as he tells you, is that it?” Damian says savagely, yanking futilely at his handcuffs. “That’s not like you, Robin, and you know it. Why have you given up?”

Robin’s blank, domino gaze snaps to meet his and the emptiness in it makes Damian pause. “You don’t know anything about me.” Is all he says, before he’s rising almost languidly to his feet and loping off.

When defeated, Grayson takes on a lazy grace, all the energy which normally supplies his bouncy athleticism sapped from him. Damian has never witnessed it to such an extreme. It’s as frustrating as it is bizarrely fascinating. It’s also a little dangerous.

“I should speak with him.” He says, once the door has swung shut behind him and Robin is gone. “This is most uncharacteristic.”

“Nah, bro, I’d leave it.” Kid Flash says, without an ounce of teasing in his tone. His eyes are trained on the door and Damian recognises the touches of worry in his eyes and the set of his jaw. “Give him some time to cool off. Things have been... rough between him and Batman recently so I wouldn’t take it too personally.”

Damian can’t help but take it personally and it must show because Aqualad gives him a reassuring smile. “We’ll send KF to talk to him in a minute to check that he’s okay. But I wouldn’t be too worried. His mentor just gave him a real tongue-lashing, that’s all.”

Damian tuts. “Tt-. I was not _worried_.”

“Sure you weren’t, little dude.” Kid Flash says with a knowing grin that makes Damian want to knock his teeth in. Still, his gaze keeps straying back to the empty doorway and it makes him wonder…

It’s strange how little things about Grayson are both beginning to baffle and make sense to him. Back in his world, Damian has always wondered and scoffed at Grayson’s sheer multitude of friends and on several occasions demanded to know who his best friend was, since he couldn’t possibly love every single one of them equally as he loved to perpetuate.

Grayson had always smiled a little sadly and shook his head. “No best friend, lil D. I don’t have one of those.”

Damian had always taken it as his sentimentality preventing him from choosing one above the others. Now he thinks that Grayson did have a best friend, he just doesn’t anymore.

The idea perturbs him and this in turn increases his distress over the entire situation. He’s trapped in the past, surrounded by many people who he knows to be dead and many more that shouldn’t even exist and now he’s about to be exposed as Batman’s accidental progeny with untold consequences both to his person and the dimension as a whole. He cannot do anything. He’s stuck in this pointless rec room with these pointless sidekicks and Grayson won’t even help him.

“Robin?” Comes a quiet voice from beside him. He realises he has been zoning out and Artemis is standing beside him. Miss Martian and Superboy have retreated to the kitchen and are now making a series of loud, damaging noises. Aqualad and Kid Flash have turned on the TV and appear to be mindlessly flicking through the channels. “Hey.” Artemis says again, waving a hand pointlessly in front of his face. He bats it away.

“What do you want? Unless you somehow have a miraculous solution as to how to retrieve my DNA, I doubt I’ll be interested.”

Artemis doesn’t get angry or punch him the way he thought she might. Instead she produces a bobby pin from thin air and inclines her head towards his handcuffs. “You want any help with those?”

His pride insists he doesn’t. His gloves are gone and with them his omnipresent lock-pick but with enough squirming and biting, he could definitely free himself from these bonds. However, it would take some time and require some loss of dignity, more than allowing her to aid him. So he nods his head curtly and lets her set to work.

“You know, they may be blue and shiny but the principle of these handcuffs is just the same as the regular police ones.” She comments as she works, pin clicking angrily in the socket. “And I’ve got myself out of plenty of those.”

“Really?” He says neutrally, but in truth he’s somewhat curious. Artemis is one of the heroes he does not recognise and he dislikes being uninformed, especially as Gotham’s vigilantes normally have an alphabetised list of weaknesses for all Justice League members. Wonder Woman is the only one they haven’t been able to crack and Oracle swears she’s working on it. Secretly Damian thinks Gordon wants to come up empty handed.

“Oh, yeah.” She says, finishing the first cuff and moving on to the second. “I mean, my dad was constantly in trouble with the police. Our place got raided all the time. My sister and I used to keep a packed bag that we’d bring with us to the station. One time,” She chuckles nostalgically. “She brought an entire packed lunch and just started eating it whilst the officer interrogated her.” She finishes the second cuff and steps back, dusting off her hands and surveying her work. “There! Done. No need to thank me.”

Damian rubs his sore wrists and surveys her sceptically. “Why are you telling me this?”

She shrugs and collapses onto a nearby sofa, kicking her feet up onto the coffee table. Damian wrinkles his nose at the poor manners and considers what Alfred would say to that. He’d probably smack them off with a feather duster. “I dunno. Maybe to show you that I’m not ashamed of my past. I used to be really secretive about my dad and stuff. I was worried that if I told everyone he was a criminal, they’d turn their backs on me and quit trusting me.” She smiles, her eyes wandering from Miss Martian and Superboy panicking over a fire they’d somehow caused on the hob to the TV where Kid Flash appears to be explaining the premise of Friends to Aqualad. “If anything, my team trusted me more.”

“Yes, well they’re not my team.” Damian retorts and then realises he’s engaging with this bizarre attempt to empathise with him. “And I’m not ashamed of my past! I was never arrested or descended to petty crime. I received impeccable training, both physical and mental.”

“But I’m guessing at least one of your parents isn’t on the right side of the law.” Artemis says.

Damian considers how to answer. He could lie or refuse to say anymore but if his DNA is already being analysed, everyone in the League is going to know eventually. He may as well break it gently to someone who should be more naturally understanding.

“My mother is not on the wrong side of the law. She is above the law. She is, however, on the wrong side of the Justice League. But I am not ashamed of my heritage.” He adds forcefully. “It is of the highest degree.”

“Sure, that’s why you’re so eager to tell us all about it.”

“The fragility of our dimensional balance-”

“Blah, blah, blah.” Artemis mimics, moving her hand like a puppet. “You don’t really believe reality is going to collapse because of your mommy issues, do you?”

Damian is fuming. “I do NOT have mummy issues.”

“Daddy issues then.” Artemis waves a dismissive hand. “Tomato, Tomahto. Point is, you’re afraid of who you are and that we’ll see you differently because of it.”

“I am afraid of nothing.” Damian says aggressively. He pauses. “But I will concede to being… apprehensive as to the reactions of several League members. Not because of whom my mother is, or rather not exclusively because of that, but because I feel their responses may be counter-productive towards my return home.”

“Any more counter-productive than they already are?” Artemis says incredulously.

“Believe it or not, yes.” Damian sighs. He finds himself sinking down onto a seat besides Artemis. “It did not go down smoothly in my world. I dread to consider how Bat- how the _League_ will take it here.”

Artemis hums thoughtfully. “I mean, I was worried they’d think I was a mole. I wasn’t, obviously, that did turn out to be a clone, but Batman knew all along and he still lets me hang out with his kid, for pete’s sake.” Damian winces at the poor example but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Anyway, I guess what I mean is, maybe you’re painting it out to be worse than it is. I know no one in this team will judge you for whoever your parents turn out to be. I mean, you tried to kill Robin when we first met you and look where we are now.”

“If I had been truly trying to ‘kill Robin’, Robin would be dead.” Damian grumbles which strangely makes Artemis laugh.

“See!” She says enthusiastically. “That doesn’t even phase me at this point. We trust you now, you murderous little time-travelling troll. Your mum or dad or whoever, no matter how big of douchebags they might be, aren’t going to change the way any of us see you.”

“It might change how Robin sees me.” Damian says, the words slipping out unbidden.

Artemis lets out a little puff of air through her nose. “Maybe. But I doubt it. Robin’s one of the least prejudice people I’ve ever met. I’m pretty sure he knew about my dad for just as long as Batman and he made an active effort to get along with me. He’s just been a little moody lately.” She winks at him conspiratorially. “Puberty, if you ask me.”

Damian shudders at the thought. The threat of puberty has been hanging over his head for the past 5 years. The voice cracks, the hormones… he dreads the inevitable coming of it, even if he does long to be taller than Grayson as his father’s impressive frame assures him he’ll be.

“I appreciate your misguided attempts at comforting me.” He tells Artemis stiffly. “They have not been entirely without impact.”

“No problem, kid, any time.” She says, tugging his hood over his eyes and any and all feelings of kinship or sympathy evaporate.

“Touch me again and we _will_ have a problem!” He yells, jolting upward onto his feet on the sofa and looming over Artemis as she cackles. The other members of the team, looking up in alarm at the raised voices, also begin to laugh and Damian feels some of his anger dissipate, deigning to plop back down on the sofa and pull his hood up himself.

For a moment, the atmosphere is comfortable and Damian can almost forget his troubles over Grayson, returning home and most of all Batman, but naturally it is not destined to last.

“Recognised: Superman 01, Batman 02, Flash 04, Black Canary 13, Red Tornado 16.”

A forbidding hush ripples across the room and Damian’s feet move to stand him upright without him telling them to. Without a word, the team files out into the briefing room and Damian follows them, feeling Robin silently join them, his feet making barely a sound against the stone floor. When they enter, the aforementioned heroes are already arranged and Damian feels a glimmer of smug satisfaction at the looks they’re giving the group of them, the way they’ve noticed Artemis’ jutted chin and Miss Martian’s hand hovering above his shoulder. The show of protection is unnecessary, but not entirely purposeless. It sends a clear message.

_No one on this team will judge you for whoever your parents turn out to be._

He waits for Batman to say something, searching his face for any signs of anger, recognition or repulsion. Instead it is the same emotionless mask he remembers seeing as he fell unconscious.

He doesn’t know, Damian realises. So why are they gathered here?

A call request appears on the monitor, from Agent A, and he understands. Batman intends to humiliate him as publically as possible. He’s stopped short of creating an entire group call for the entire Justice League. As much as it infuriates him, the irony is not lost on Damian either. He is not the one about to be undermined, but he may be the one about to pay the price for it.

Batman accepts the call.

“Agent A.” He says crisply. “You have the results of the DNA test?”

“Yes, sir.” Comes the venerable voice of Alfred and Damian can detect what others in the mountain may not, the barely distinguishable quiver in his speech. Robin has noticed it too, from the way he shifts his feet and crosses his arms, leaning forward curiously.

If Batman has, he gives nothing away. “And?”

“There is a match for half the DNA of a member of the Justice League. A parent, sir.”

The heroes shuffle restlessly, and Damian can’t help but notice Black Canary’s jaw drop, her eyes fly to his face in dawning recognition.

“Who?” Batman says, with the ignorant impatience of a man staring down a loaded gun and demanding it fire.

“Yours, sir.” Alfred says, and this time the disbelief in his voice is as clear as day. “This Robin is your biological son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i say cliff, you say hanger! CLIFF-
> 
> kudos, comment and thanks for reading :D


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth finally comes out and needless to say no one takes it well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i updated  
> y'all: ...  
> y'all: it's been a mo-  
> me: I UPDATED
> 
> WHEN I SAY I'M SORRY that this chapter is SHORT and INCOHERENT and LAAAATE i frickin MEAN IT  
> it killed me. i rewrote it FOUR TIMES. this is on top of life being VERY BUSY. i'm finally not-entirely-unhappy with it but i still might mess around and rewrite it lol we'll have to see :P but i couldn't keep you waiting any longer! so take it!! berate me!! i'm sorry!!

There’s a silence reminiscent of the kind that follows the explosion of an atomic bomb.

“Agent A, could you repeat that?” Superman says, in a choked voice.

“I believe you heard me, sir. The DNA you sent me is a paternal match for Batman. He is this Robin’s biological father.”

There’s another prolonged, agonised breathlessness in which Damian studies his father’s profile cast against the glow of the monitor, watches the barely perceptible tightening of his jaw and listing of his head.

Then Kid Flash, of the ever impeccable timing, exclaims “He’s his WHAT?” and the stupefied spell breaks.

“He’s Batman’s _kid_?”

“How much fear gas did I inhale?”

“Batman had a _kid_?”

“I knew that glare was familiar! How did we miss this?”

“No, seriously how in the _hell_ did Batman physically have a _kid_?”

“You really want an answer to that, KF?”

“Ew, no, not like that!”

“And just to clarify…” Artemis pipes up, fingers twitching as if picking an invisible lock. “Batman isn’t _our_ Robin’s biological father, right? Angry Robin isn’t his clone?”

“Of course not.” Damian scoffs and immediately he feels the scuttling sense of dozens of eyes, crawling over his face with a new fascination. He represses the urge to shudder. It is something he’s grown accustomed to, this visual need to validate his claim. “I am Batman’s only son-” and heir, his muscle memory provides, but he bites down the addition. “I am not genetically linked to Robin in any way. This entire witch hunt has been a waste of time.”

Strangely, Damian feels pervaded by a sense of calm. This inane battle has finally been resolved and in some twisted sense, he has emerged the victor. He has the upper hand over the Justice League and an entire new lease of freedom now that the metaphorical bat is out of the metaphorical bag. For one thing, the timeline’s stability is likely now in dire peril no matter what kind of havoc Damian wreaks within it. He has been granted the kind of artistic license that should leave him cackling like Grayson.

But instead he continues to study Batman, who has silently lifted one arm to prop himself up against the rugged wall. The set of his shoulders reminds Damian of the incline of a mountain, the tension in his lips and chin as frozen as a cliff face. He’d look as if he were taking the news astonishingly calmly if it weren’t for the shivers running up and down his arms. Damian has no idea what they mean. Is he angry? Sad?

When he eventually speaks, it is in a voice so devoid of discernible emotion, that Damian wants to tear his hair out. 

“Run the test again.”

The other heroes fall silent, eyes travelling between Batman and Damian as if witnessing a thrilling plot twist in a soap opera.

“I have, sir.” Alfred informs him resignedly. “There is no mistake.”

“There must be.” Batman says, head still turned to the monitor, and this time there’s a definite trace of instability in his insistence. “He’s a clone-”

“This rubbish again?” Damian demands and now it’s frustrating that Batman won’t look at him when everyone else seems content to gawp. His calm is only so extensive and he hates that he has no idea what Batman is thinking. Damian would rather he spit at him than continue to look away.

(He has not, purely for context, looked at Robin and will not for the foreseeable future. One Batman at a time.)

“It is half your chromosomes, sir, not a full copy.” Alfred says, and from the sound of his voice he must be seriously considering retirement. “Besides from the yet unanswered question as to how they got there, everything seems proper and correct.”

“Another explanation.” Batman says stiltedly, the hand splayed against the wall curling into a fist. “Genetic engineering.”

Damian tuts and crosses his arms, feeling his head spontaneously lol back at the obtuseness of it all. “I can assure you, I was conceived in the natural way: through the union of yourself and my mother.”

The implication of a mother seems to inspire a whole new sense of horror in the faces of the heroes.

“Who is…?” Superman says, sounding as if the answer might strike him dead.

They’re going to find out anyway, Damian reasons, so he might as well be the one to tell them. “Talia Al-Ghul.”

Superman produces the kind of sound damsels in distress typically make before they swoon and there are various other scandalised outbursts. Batman’s head droops. Kid Flash’s jaw drops. Black Canary pinches the bridge of her nose as if she can feel a psychoanalytic headache coming on. Artemis is the only one who reacts positively, shooting Damian a thoroughly impressed look.

“You weren’t kidding. That’s one big, bad mama.”

“Thank you.” Damian responds without allowing his brain to unpack the entire offensiveness of that depraved description of his mother. “It was an ill-advised love affair of which I was the result. I was then incubated in an artificial womb and raised by the League of Assasins until the age of 10 when my mother granted me leave to travel to Gotham and continue training under Batman’s tutelage. Do you now understand why revealing my identity was a mistake?”

There’s a general ripple of uncomfortable nods and a few murmured apologies. Black Canary steps forward from the other members of the Justice League and places a hand over her heart. “Robin, let me be the first to officially apologise for the mistreatment you’ve suffered at the hands of the League. If we’d had any idea-”

“That cannot be correct.” Batman says, quietly cutting her off. The tension in the room suddenly thickens. All eyes are either on Damian or Batman, besides the man himself who still has yet to shift his gaze. It’s as if he’s retreated entirely into his own head, a place where Damian does not exist, where nothing exists except palatable facts and statistics and where nothing cannot be correct. “You can’t be my-”

“Can’t be your what, _father_?” Damian hisses and watches Batman visibly flinch with no satisfaction. “Please. Look at me. What can I not be?”

Batman lets out a strained sigh from his nose but he doesn’t look up. “The timeframe-”

“I said _look at me_.” Damian snarls and when his father finally does raise his head, there is an expression in the white blanks of his cowl that thrills his son to the bone.

He’s terrified of him.

It’s the thought that catches in Damian’s throat before he can even analyse why because it’s an expression he’s seen a thousand times reflected in the mirror.

Batman is terrified of him.

The shivers wracking his arms, legs, clenched fists aren’t from anger or disappointment, they’re from fear.

His father is terrified of him.

The worst thing is, Damian might as well be looking into the face of a sleep-walker. Batman’s glassy eyes pass right through him and pierce into a nightmare. He’s looking at Damian but he can’t _see_ him, _won’t_ see him. All he sees is a reflection of himself.

Damian feels a rush of acrid anger that floods through his limbs and lights the pitch coal of his heart. He realises he’s sick and tired of existing only as Batman’s son. It is what solicited his mother’s love, earnt him Grayson’s partnership and now causes his father to look at him with such unnatural fear in his eyes. Why is it that he can never exist as an individual in his own right? Why is it that the man he has been taught to exemplify his entire life observes their similarity and is horrified by it? His father had never seen him as Damian, always as his problem, his inadvertent and unfortunate progeny, the embodiment of his darkest parts. Even now he isn’t truly terrified by Damian, he’s terrified by the parts of Damian that echo himself.

“The timeframe is improbable.” Batman grinds out, moving unsteadily to an unsupported stance. “For you to have been conceived-”

“Spare me the inconsistencies of my own birth.” Damian snaps. He’s shaking like his father now in some hybrid of horror and rage. Behind him, Miss Martian shudders at the cocktail of emotions he’s probably emanating. He truly doesn’t care. “I cannot be reasoned out of existence, father, and believe me you have tried.”

“Let’s not make this personal.” Batman attempts but Damian cuts him off in a spontaneous derisive laugh.

“Personal!? I am your flesh and blood! There is nothing impersonal about that.” He takes a step forward and this time when Batman flinches, he thinks he’s right to be scared. “But don’t worry. I’m certain there must be some mistake if the timeframe is _improbable_.”

“I’m merely stating a fact.” Batman says, an edge of iron entering his voice once more and that deathly chill taking a firmer hold over his features. Flash and Superman spontaneously take a step back as the cold reaches them. “One you seem very eager to brush over.”

“What will it take to pierce through that thick cowl of yours?” Damian demands, fists clenching. He doesn’t notice his own companions also take a step away from him on either side. “You take to denying science to support your unfounded paranoia? Stop acting like an insecure child!”

For a moment an expression so vicious clouds Batman’s features that Damian genuinely believes he’s pushed him too far and he’s about to throttle him. However, before he can take a step forward, a colourful blockade intercedes between them.

“Maybe we should all calm down,” Someone says and for a moment Damian believes he’s truly lost it and that’s the disembodied voice of Grayson ringing through his head in his final moments. However, when he blinks the red mist from his eyes, he finds it’s only Robin, looking pale and a little miserable but firmly resigned. He’s standing with a shoulder to both Batman and Damian so he can address them both but also hold them back if they lunge at each other. “I think we’ve proven we aren’t going to solve anything by fighting one another. If we do what Black Canary says and talk-”

Batman lashes out at Robin so violently, he stumbles backwards and almost loses his footing. “Robin you have been out of line this entire mission!” He roars. “Jeopardising your team, working behind my back! For once, do what I say and keep quiet!”

Robin’s face freezes and whatever colour remaining in it drains like water down a sink. There’s the return of that atomic silence, broken only by the gentle padding of footsteps as Kid Flash hesitantly approaches his friend. Robin appears to swallow and squares his shoulders, nods wordlessly and exits with a swish of his cloak leaving Kid Flash’s hand hanging emptily in the air still reaching for his shoulder. Batman watches him leave and if Damian were feeling charitable, maybe he’d allow that there was an instant sense of regret in his eyes. Maybe he’d allow that he hangs his head, reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Unfortunately for him, Damian is not feeling charitable.

“You dare…” He begins, finding the words are thick with choler and barely pronounceable. “You dare to reprimand _him_ for your folly?”

“Robin…” Several people sigh, and a dozen hands appear to encroach on his peripherals to cling and pull at him, to soothe him. They do not understand. They are not privy to the unspoken boundary his father has broached.

“I am a regret to you.” Damian states. He steps away from the circle of sidekicks that had before ensconced him, brushes away a hand that roams too close and the others retreat, their bewildered owners watching with even more appalled consumption than before. “It is a fundamental truth I have grappled with since we met, a battle in which you have forced me to yield up the pride that I have taken in my inheritance ever since I could say the word Batman, in view of the knowledge that I will never grant you that same familial pride, that you will never speak my name with the same reverence that I have yours. But you have always felt that pride for _him_.” Damian thrusts out a hand at Robin’s now retreated back, feels his fingers reach to catch on the cloak…

“It has been your redeeming feature to me.” He confesses. “It is part of the reason I took on the mantle of Robin so eagerly, vanquished and defeated as I was, because I hoped it would compel you to grant some shadow of that pride to me despite the blight that is your blood flowing through my veins. And yet now,” His rage reaches fever-pitch, shudders like a crescendo. “You dare to deny me even that?”

Batman’s fury appears to shrivel and perish right in front of Damian’s eyes as he realises, without fully comprehending, the secret line he has crossed. Grayson has always acted as a barrier between the two of them, distancing his father from Damian by his position as the infallible eldest son but more importantly, keeping the more uncongenial parts of them from mixing. When Damian had received that first cold reception from his father, it had come as an icy shock to his perception of Batman. However, when Grayson had taken on the role of Batman and allowed him to engage in the legacy of the dynamic duo, he had renewed Damian’s faith in his father. At his lowest points when he doubted whether the Batman he’d grown up on existed at all, Grayson could be relied upon to provide the perfect anecdote of his wisdom, skill or even kindness, though Damian never outwardly expressed his desire to hear of that side of him. And as stated, witnessing the genuine pride and joy his father clearly took in his adopted son had reassured Damian that capability of such existed, that it might one day be turned on him. Now, by callously tossing Robin aside, by demonstrating once more his selfishness and his lack of capacity for that long-sought paternity, this Batman has ruined himself in Damian’s eyes. No scrap of the Batman of legend remains. Damian thinks Grayson’s Batman truly was _Grayson’s_ Batman all along.

Which makes him Grayson’s Robin and it will simply not do to allow that legacy to go undefended.

“You need not acknowledge me as your son, but you will acknowledge me as Robin.” Damian continues. “If you do not, I myself will renounce the claim on that title until I return to my home and all the trappings that come with it.” His lip curls in a blood-curdling snarl and he feels the breath catch in every throat, knows he must look the figure of mercilessness, a picture of pure ferity. He’s Grayson’s Robin, but that doesn’t make him any less Damian. “Do you know what that means, Batman? I am an Al-Ghul as much as I am your son, more so at the current time. I have been trained to kill since birth. I will not just defeat this dimensional threat, I will slaughter all those involved and wash the sin away with their blood. Do I make myself clear?”

Batman says nothing. He’s too busy shaking again and the display is repulsive.

Black Canary speaks in a low, even tone. “Explicitly.”

“Good. You have an hour to discuss your course of action. I do not expect an apology, I expect an admittance of error and an acknowledgement of my validity as Robin. If not…” He trails off, savouring the idea. “I could use some swords.”

Damian pulls up his hood against his father’s terrified gaze and follows after Robin.

The only noise that echoes from behind him is that of Alfred’s dry voice: “I must say, you have made a pig’s ear of that one, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the immortal words of alfred: i've made a pig's ear of this one  
> fully guys if you want me to rewrite it let me know, i'm aware it's a long-awaited chapter and not my best work so i apologise but drop a pity-kudos if you feel like it xx


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian does some research and joins a team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say it with me folks!  
> FILLER CHAPTER, FILLER CHAPTER  
> i have neither the energy nor the time to write a THICC, plot-driven chapter so have a lil plot and some mindless fun  
> sorry it's a little late and a little short, i wanted to be sure i got something out :)

Damian exits the briefing room on a crusade for destruction.

Luckily for the inhabitants of the base, he finds the training room before he can begin tearing any of the monitors from the walls. There he demolishes not one but four punching bags, kicks six new dents into the walls and secures a dozen bulls-eyes at the archery range by envisioning Batman’s face on the target. At one point he becomes dimly aware of the sidekick team observing him through the large glass windows but they only linger for a short while, electing not to disturb him. A wise choice on their part since he’s in a mood to spar, not talk and has just discovered the throwing knives.

He’s executing a particularly pitiless flying kick on an innocent training dummy when he hears the automatic door slide open and automatically whirls towards it with his fists raised.

“Relax.” Black Canary says, shaking some punching bag stuffing off the toe of her combat boots. “It’s just me.”

Damian certainly does not relax, but he lowers his hands to his sides. “What do you want, you fraudulent shrink? Has Batman sent you to diagnose me with a complex and toss me back into a cell?”

The look on Black Canary's face is nothing short of pained. “No, Robin. He’s sent me to inform you we concede to your terms.”

Damian grunts. The concession doesn’t please him any more than another denial would since Batman would be pushing the limits of sanity to refuse him now. It seems emotional brutality is the only language his father- no, this _prototype Batman_ \- will negotiate in. “Good. You can leave now.”

Black Canary does not leave. “You should probably get some sleep. The League have located a suspicious outpost in Mongolia we think might be a military base and your team have an early start tomorrow on a covert observation mission.”

“My team?” Damian’s nose wrinkles. “And what do you mean ‘covert observation’?”

“Your team.” Black Canary agrees. “I don’t know if you noticed but they’ve effectively adopted you. And yes, covert observation. It might not seem imperative to you, but the League operates on a far grander scale than just Batman and Robin. They can’t go ahead and invade Mongolia without proper justification.”

“And the League has no clue what it’s up against.” Damian adds with a sharp grin. “Besides the shadow of an old enemy. Fine, I’ll agree to work with your glorified crèche; I doubt co-operating with actual League members would be more palatable. However I expect to be informed of every development in this case in real time. If I face one more deception or experience the slightest chafe of restraint, I will find an alternate route home alone and damn this dimension to whatever nefarious plot endangers it with a clean conscience.”

Black Canary nods and has the gall to half-smile. “Get some sleep. I’ll alert you if anything changes.”

She turns to leave but Damian has one more request. “Canary?”

She pauses at the door. “Yes?”

“Get me my utility belt back and my gloves. I’ve got work to do.”

***

After Black Canary retrieves his belongings, Damian does not go to sleep; he’s had quite enough shut eye from being forcibly knocked unconscious twice in 48 hours.

Instead he finds the nearest computer and to his private relief, as soon as his fingers touch the keys it springs to life. He wonders if it’s Robin who’s keyed his biometrics into the system and feels an itch to seek out his likely disenfranchised younger mentor. Grayson had been disgruntled enough to find he had competition to the title of Robin so Damian can only imagine how he’s taking the shock that he’s no longer an only child. Unfortunately, whenever they’ve been at conflict in the past, it has always been Grayson who made the first conciliatory move and now that the ball’s in Damian’s court, he’s unsure how to proceed.

What would Robin appreciate? A pep-talk? Grayson has always been very enthusiastic about giving them, but Damian doesn’t know how he’d take to receiving one. A gift of some kind? When Damian had given him a potted plant for his birthday last year with strict instructions not to let it die, Grayson had wandered the manor teary-eyed for the next four days.

What will Damian do if he cries? He fills an involuntary shudder dance up his spine. Grayson is an overly sensitive fool and it would be just like him to force Damian into staunching the flow of his bleeding heart. The very notion is so chilling that he decides to put aside all thoughts of reconciliation for another time and focus on the work at hand.

Which is research. Lots of research.

Damian is sick to the back teeth of being uninformed. He can no longer stand blindly stumbling through this house-of-mirrors dimension, especially with such little information on his primary enemy. His first mode of business is to scour the Justice League records for everything they have on the mission and the Light.

The first thing Damian notices is that the League’s file on the Light is one of the most recently established and that in itself is a testament to their covert operation: Batman’s record-keeping is scrupulous and unlikely to overlook a potential threat unless they’re well and truly operating beneath the radar.

The second thing he notices is his grandfather’s name amongst a list of potential members. The letters, even in a small, neat font, seem to loom at Damian from off the screen and he eradicates any notions of complacency towards this group’s operation. If his grandfather had deigned to darken its doorway, there is no doubt they are up against a formidable threat.

He reads about their establishment, global strong posts and notable allies all whilst struggling to divine some grander scheme to apply to the theme of dimensional travel. Control seems to be the key: Robin has informed him of their twisted ideology to reintegrate natural selection into a society they believe heroes have turned soft and such an ambitious plot would take an entire upheaval of the western norm, let alone global application. To gain that, they would need an iron fist as opposed to one cloaked in the shadows. Damian can only assume that one way or another, they mean to take over the world and by force at that.

For now, however, the nuances elude him and he returns to the machine’s diagram to hopefully shed some light on the situation. The frantic clicking of his mouse and the tippity-tap tapping of the keys are the only sound that fill the cavernous silence of the mountain but Damian doubts anyone else is actually asleep. The sidekicks are probably still up and excited, like children before a holiday, and who knows what Robin is doing. The thought makes his back tingle like an exposed wound and he can’t help but toss a glance over his shoulder whenever there’s some small sound like the distant erosion of rock or a crash of waves.

He finds his real breakthrough lead when examining the minutia of the circuits, all of which display startling similarities to the recent technology rolled out by Lexcorp. The engineering itself makes little sense to Damian and Luthor’s soft touch in the physical evidence left behind makes sense considering his scrupulous public image but he doubts someone listed as a permanent member of the Light would contribute so little.

He hazards a casual internet search on recent Lex Luthor news articles and immediately finds the word ‘light’ jumping out at him from a dozen different sites. It turns out Luthor made a tidy but highly publicised donation to a charity named ‘NightLight’, an organisation that claims to provide quiet funds to children experiencing prolonged stays in hospital. Damian finds his lip involuntarily curling at the impudence of using a children’s charity to cover their criminal operations but supposes it at least matches the Light’s mission statement: they’d probably rather do away with hospitals entirely and let nature run its savage course.

Naturally, not to be left tumbling off the bandwagon, various other high profile individuals then made similar and even steeper donations and that does make Damian smile bitterly at the shallow, sycophantic herd behaviour of Metropolis’ elite: how ironic that they are unwittingly funding their own downfall. He only wishes Bruce Wayne had been amongst them. That would have been two sweet. He follows a link to the charity’s website and finds various interesting tidbits such as a mission statement which reads like a thinly veiled villainous monologue and a world map highlighting the lucky recipient nations of their good work: Canada, Zimbabwe, Taiwan, _Mongolia_ …

Damian files the information away in his brain and closes the monitor at the insistent gnaw of his stomach. He really hasn’t had a chance to eat and he presumes it’ll now be safe to do so without fear of Martian ambush. He also feels a desire to meditate and find some mental tranquillity after such a long and troubling couple of days. The thought of having to vocalise his emotions and rawest thoughts to another person is enough to turn his stomach, but Damian has no problem attempting to organise them himself. To prune away the ones that don’t suit him, enlarge and impassion the ones which do, to thoroughly stamp out childish sentimentality…

He finds the kitchenette, darkened and empty and cringes at the flour blanketing the floor like snow that dusts his boots with each step. The fridge is absorbed almost entirely by baking supplies and little actual food besides nutritionless junk which Damian assumes belongs to Kid Flash and which will, needless to say, not make it within an inch of his mouth. In the end he rumbles himself an apple, some thinly buttered toast and is momentarily tempted by some synthetic, sugary cereal he recognises as Robin’s before regaining his wits. The last time he’d tried some, at Grayson’s eager coaxing, he recalls it tasting like sickly sweet Styrofoam. He won’t subject himself to the same again simply because of a longing for home.

He even finds some weak tea which, when he closes his eyes and strains his taste buds, almost reminds him of the Earl Grey Alfred serves with breakfast. It’s never been Damian’s favourite, preferring richer, more exotic flavours, but now the very wraith of the perfume is a comfort and he cradles the cup in his hands on top of the fridge, legs twined into a lotus position and mind slowly accomplishing some semblance of peace.

He stirs gently through the muddled events of the past few days and teases out different lines of thought and feeling. Several he nips neatly in the bud and leaves to trail aimlessly into the deeper recesses of his mind. Others he fortifies, braiding together into a reinforced steel chain of mental defence. It feels good to have productive prospects ahead and greater leverage over his fellow heroes. Batman and Robin have always been in a league of their own and to find himself at a disadvantage in comparison to his usual unquestionable position at Batman’s side had been irking. He’s not quite returned to infallibility but he will get there, and on his own merits.

Roughly a half hour into his meditation, however, he hears a tell-tale rush of air and the creak of the fridge opening beneath him along with a greedy chuckle that makes Damian want to groan in exasperation. He sits for a moment in silence, listening to Kid Flash ransack the kitchen and make several disagreeable, gluttonous sounds before he cannot stand it any longer.

“You sound like a pig.”

“GAH!” The speedster stumbles backward, clutching a tub of ice cream to his chest like a life vest and gazing up at Damian in horror. “Holy Son of Batman! What are you doing on top of the fridge!?”

“Meditating.”

Kid Flash’s gaze seems to focus and he observes Damian’s seating arrangement quizzically. “On top of the fridge?”

“Yes.”

A look of even deeper confusion takes hold of the speedster’s features. “Meditating?”

“Meditating on top of the fridge, I thought we’d established this.” Damian says dryly, setting his now empty mug to one side.

“No, no, no.” Kid Flash shakes his head vigorously, placing the ice cream similarly aside. “I mean _you_ meditate? Isn’t that, like, a hippie thing to make you calm and chilled out and…” He trails off, clearly second guessing what he was going to add.

“And…?” Damian prompts.

He gulps. “Less…murderous?”

Damian gazes at him just long enough to make his discomfort peak before tutting and uncurling his legs from the pretzel knot. “It does. Imagine how murderous I’d be without my meditation.” His eyes narrow. “And you just interrupted me.”

“All right, all right!” Kid Flash cries, hands pre-emptively flying up to shield his face. “Sorry for ruining your Feng Shui. I’ll leave you to it.”

He makes a move to leave but Damian leaps down off the fridge and he stops in his tracks, like a deer caught in the headlights. “No. As you so astutely observed, my Feng Shui has been ruined. What are you doing down here?”

“Besides eating?” Kid Flash sends a longing look at the fridge Damian is obstructing but he shuffles so he’s more completely obscuring it from view. “Ugh… I was just gonna play some video games.”

Damian’s interest is instantly piqued. “Video games?”

“Yeah. They’re like board games but animated.”

“-Tt-. I know what video games are. Which ones do you have?”

Kid Flash bites his lip nervously, eyes straying to the nearest available exits. “I normally play with Rob…”

“Robin is sulking. Plus he’s an amateur compared to me, and that’s with ten years of extra experience. Show me. Unless…” He grins, cracking his knuckles. “You’re that scared I’ll pulverise you.”

A competitive determination takes a hold of Kid Flash’s features and he too lets loose a wide smirk. “Oh, you are on kid. I am the _Batman_ of video games.”

“Well I’m his son, which makes me the Batman of everything but Batman.” Damian retorts. “Show me the games.”

10 minutes later, Damian isn’t quite eating his words but he’s certainly being given a run for his money. He chooses to attribute Kid Flash’s success to his superhuman instincts and familiarity with this particular game because Damian definitely had the upper hand on strategy but there’s no doubting he’s a good gamer and it’s a stimulating competition, one which absorbs Damian’s mind even more entirely than meditation would.

When Kid Flash wins his second round out of three, he gives a hearty whoop and flings the controller into the air in victory. “YES! Beat that, bat-boy!”

“It’s hardly a fair fight.” Damian grumbles, but he’s fighting a smile. Wallace West is an idiot but there’s something infectious in his exuberance.

“Um, excuse me you’re the one who got into a video game contest with a speedster I don’t know what you’re whining about.”

“I’m not whining.” Damian protests as Kid Flash plops back down onto the couch next to him. “But I do demand a rematch.”

At that moment the doors to the rec room swing open and Superboy and Miss Martian glide in, arm in arm. When Superboy spots him, he looks automatically uneasy but his girlfriend beams at Damian like an old friend.

“Ooh! Are you playing video games? Can I watch?”

“Nah, Miss M, that’s not fair. We’ll find something else to do.”

“No more baking.” Damian says instantly. “I doubt my intestines could take it.”

“Trivial pursuit?” Superboy suggests but he’s immediately turned down by a chorus of groans.

“That isn’t fair, Con, and you know it.” Artemis says, appearing with Aqualad in the doorway and going over to sit beside her boyfriend, attempting to ruffle Damian’s hair on her way past. He ducks out of the way but sends her a vicious look that makes her grin. “You’ve basically got the collective general knowledge for the past millennia memorised.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not fun.” Superboy insists, slumping moodily onto the couch. His girlfriend giggles which makes him lift his head up and smile at himself. “We should at least find a compromise.”

“I think we should let our newest team member choose.” Aqualad says, placing a hand on Damian’s shoulder. He flinches, but doesn’t automatically brush it off. “As long as it’s something we can do together.”

Damian pauses. The scene is so comfortable, he almost wonders if it’s real. Robin is still noticeably absent and he can’t pretend that doesn’t bother him but the group of heroes around him, juvenile and naïve though they may be, have been so accepting and patient towards him he’s still scrambling for some kind of ulterior motive. However, examining each of the open, friendly faces looking at him, he genuinely can’t find one. It’s as alien as it is pleasing. He’s never been able to fathom Grayson’s seemingly endless affection and tolerance towards his lesser allies but now he thinks he understands it. Working in a team can be almost as amenable as working in a partnership and he feels that now that they are, truly a team it will be that much easier to return to Batman.

And as for this Batman, let him just try and stop them.

“ _Temporary_ team member.” Damian amends, but he’s smiling despite himself. “How do you feel about Monopoly?”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> narrator voice: and thus as soon as the team was formed, it was torn apart...  
> leave a comment, kudos and a smile :) again, sorry it's filler xx


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian and the team complete the 're-con' mission. Things go well and awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have a late christmas gift :)  
> as you know, writing plot is the bane of my existence so that's why this took so long but i kept on writing until midnight because i was suddenly flooded with inspiration and now it's an absolute monster  
> no proofreading we die like mne

Damian doesn’t so much destroy them at Monopoly as provide the team with a well-intentioned re-education in the cut-throat, dystopic nature of capitalism.

Miss Martian is bankrupt five minutes in. Superboy shortly follows. Kid Flash attempts to buy up all the yellow squares and when Damian nabs Piccadilly out from under him, he nearly flips the board and rage-quits. Artemis is caught robbing the bank and is thus sentenced to jail time for most of the game. Kaldur plays it straight-laced, accumulating property and dutifully paying his rent but eventually Damian’s domination of the board sucks him entirely dry.

“You do realise this game was not invented for fun?” He states loudly over the sound of their groans and the rustling of his significant paper fortune. They’re counting up the final balance but it’s a pointless exercise. The board is a testament to his new real-estate empire, embellished with so many hotels and houses, the property colours are barely visible. “The inventor, Elizabeth Magie, intended it to be a chilling illustration of the economic consequences of land value taxation and other Georgist concepts.”

“You suggested it!” Artemis says accusingly, shuffling her collection of one and five dollar bills with all the despondence of a ruined woman.

“Yes,” Damian concedes, smiling smugly. “I did. I’m merely pointing out that you should have expected this outcome from the start. The relentless grind of our consumer society benefits only the very 1% and if I’m suggesting the game, then you can presume that’s me.”

Kid Flash leans over to Kaldur and stage whispers: “Is it too early to kick him off the team?” This makes the rest of them laugh and Damian is just about to offer a stunning retort when the doors of the rec room slide open and Robin walks in.

He doesn’t look as if he’s slept again which makes Damian frown: that’s two all-nighters in a row which can’t be beneficial to either his mental or physical state. He isn’t smiling, there’s a noticeable agitation in the tight set of his mouth and his step is so utterly devoid of spring that Kid Flash spontaneously bursts out with a “Dude, are you alright?”

This forces a mangled caricature of his regular thousand-watt grin onto his face and Damian has to force down a grimace of his own at the sight of it. The Grayson he knows is far better at faking a smile. He supposes he’s had more practice.

“It’s cool, KF. Just didn’t sleep much.” He directs the next bit to Kaldur, masked eyes glossing entirely over Damian. “B- or rather, Batman, wants us ready to depart in ten minutes. I’ve got the co-ordinates and a mission debrief downloaded on my wrist computer.”

“He won’t be delivering them in person?” Kaldur wonders, grip tightening slightly around his water bearers.

“He’s avoiding me.” Damian pipes up and watches as their faces turn awkward. So far no one has attempted to acknowledge the bat in the room, which is the paternal linkage between himself and Batman and the ensuing verbal brawl they were all witness too. He supposes they don’t want to make him uncomfortable but Damian himself isn’t afraid of bringing it up. He has never shied away from declaring his lineage before and if Batman has chosen to make it public, he’s certainly not going to avoid the subject. He had privately hoped Robin wouldn’t either. “As are you, Robin. We are going to discuss-”

“There’s really not enough time.” Robin interrupts him, smile dropping from his face like a dead weight and entire manner hardening. “B- I mean Batman- was very clear we should be geared up ASAP.”

“But-” Damian begins, feeling an angry flush rise into his cheeks.

“I’ll be down in the hangar.” Robin says, already turning on his heel and waving over his shoulder. “See you in ten!”

Damian leaps up from his seat and cries “Wait!” but the doors to the rec room have already swung shut and Robin’s set off, practically at a sprint, down the corridor. He moves to follow him but Kid Flash intercepts his path, looking comically unhappy against the merry red and yellow of his costume.

“Leave it, dude.” He says, shaking his head. “If he’s not in the mood to talk, he’s not going to talk. You’ve just gotta wait for him to come around.”

“I _have_ waited for him to come around.” Damian insists, attempting to move past but finding the speedster still stubbornly blocking his path. “And he doesn’t have to talk, he just has to listen to me talk.”

“So you’re master plan is to what- shout at him until he trusts you?” Artemis says, tone half sympathetic, half mocking. “Robin moves in mysterious ways. Literally, sometimes. Wally’s right: wait for him to come to you.”

Damian chews on this for a moment, finding the notion tough and hard to swallow. “This isn’t like him.” He says at last. “He’s not usually so irritable…so opaque. He tries to make me talk about how I’m feeling _all the time_. It’s not fair of him to shut me out.”

He only realises how personal his description of Grayson is when it’s too late. The team furtively glance at each other, digesting the new information and he finds himself blushing furiously at the slip up. Worse than the insight into Robin’s future character is the fact that he sounds like a child whining about their older sibling refusing to share a toy. It both undersells his own emotional maturity and the depth of his partnership with Grayson. He isn’t just his _big brother_ who won’t play nice. They’re supposed to be the dynamic duo, the ultimate team. Right now Damian feels more akin to this gaggle of innocuous sidekicks.

“I merely commenting on how his behaviour is uncharacteristic.” He attempts to defend himself. “Something must be amiss.”

“Maybe he just isn’t the Robin you know.” Miss Martian suggests gently but Damian feels himself immediately bristle.

“That’s preposterous! He’s the exact same person as the version of him from my dimension. I would be able to tell if he was different.”

“He might be the same person,” Kaldur elaborates. “But he’s ten years younger. You can’t expect him to react to things the same way his adult self would. Perhaps you merely do not know him as well as you thought you did.”

The statement hangs in the air for a moment, building in pressure until Damian chooses to release it. He does so only once he believes he has an appropriate reign on the anger which itches to lodge a birdarang in the Atlantean freak-of-nature’s gills.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” He says tightly, nostrils flaring. “And as such, I will not hold your impudent suggestion against you. However, I’d implore you not to make such reckless assumptions about people and things you certainly do not know as well as you think you do.”

Kaldur nods, maintaining the calm temperament Damian had hoped he would. “Understood. I hope we can place any disagreements aside in favour of the mission.”

“Absolutely.” Damian agrees. “I can be civil.”

“Not too civil to the bad guys, I hope.” Kid Flash grins, rising to his feet and rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

“You mean the ones who wrenched me from my universe, left me to fend against the unfounded circumspection of a demented Justice League and now threaten the stability of the entire dimension?” He says, drawing several flash bombs from his utility belt and tossing them absently as he pretends to think. “No. I’m afraid that’s where my civility runs out.”

“Lucky us.” Kaldur smiles. “Team, let’s go!”

***

“Robin,” Miss Martian says aloud, one hand resting on the ship’s glowing orb as she guides it over Siberian wasteland. “I’m going to activate the mental link. Is that ok?”

She doesn’t specify that she’s addressing Damian, but it must be obvious from the way Robin’s eyes remain trained out of the window, passing glassily across the desolate, grey sky. They are about to meld minds and yet Damian is painfully aware he’ll be no closer to knowing what his younger mentor is thinking. He’s almost tempted to test Robin’s mental defences, to see if he can glean even a whisper of his thoughts, but he’s aware they’re as closely guarded as his own: he’d be bashing his head against a brick wall. Instead he takes a beat to quiet his own brain, centre himself on the mission ahead, before meeting Miss Martian’s polite gaze with a curt nod.

“ _Can everyone hear me_?” She says a moment later, her voice ringing through his mind like warm water rippling across a cool lake. Damian suppresses a shudder at the sensation as he registers the peripheral presences of each of his teammates, their thoughts flickering as brightly and remotely as stars in a halo of joint consciousness.

There’s a chorus of mental assent and when Damian hesitantly adds his own “voice”, he’s relieved to find it as decisive and controlled an action as speaking. A little of the paranoia melts away, especially as Kid Flash begins to mentally project a cheerful reprise of his ’99 Bottles of Bored on the Wall’, giving them all cause to groan aloud but breaking the cerebral ice.

Kid Flash and Artemis both pass out crossing the border, resting their heads on each other’s shoulders, and Damian watches as Robin grins, produces a marker out of thin air. For a moment it appears certain the happy couple are about to be thoroughly inked but for some reason Robin falters, twiddling the pen between his dexterous fingers as the smile dies on his face. Finally he glances up, happens to meet Damian’s gaze and this appears to cement his decision. The pen is plunged back into his utility belt and he resumes his moody observation of the landscape, now fading into the frigid peaks of the Mongolian mountains.

Kid Flash and Artemis clearly find it just as surprising as Damian does from the way they lunge awake with simultaneous yells of distress, clawing desperately for a reflective surface.

“Wha-?” Kid Flash garbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as though the ink will miraculously appear on his face.

“You didn’t draw on us?” Artemis says, sounding disturbed as she looks from her pocket mirror to Robin. “Why didn’t you draw on us? What else did you do?”

“Nothing.” Robin snaps, in a way that doesn’t just sound like Batman, but _Bruce Wayne’s_ Batman. “Guys, we’re on a mission. I’m trying to take this seriously.”

Kid Flash and Artemis exchange chilled looks and Damian tries not to feel smug. He had told them something was wrong and they’d insisted he wait until Robin came to him. But now he isn’t just acting irritable, he’s acting _off_.

The issue is put aside when Miss Martian reports that they’re ten minutes away and it’s finally time for the mission debrief. Robin interfaces his wrist computer with the bioship and brings up a holographic blueprint of the outpost, separated into three sections highlighted blue, green and red. Each one is then labelled with a dizzying number of annotations, most of which Robin dismisses with a flick of his hand and a measured sigh.

“Are those not important?” Kaldur asks, eyebrows knitting.

“Batman being pedantic.” Robin grumbles. “All we really need to know is that the outpost is split into three camps: what appears to be a military barracks, a lab and an information tower. We’ll split into three teams to observe each-”

“What kind of information?” Damian interrupts.

Robin stares at him for a moment, likely blinking behind the mask, before clearing his throat. “We’re not sure. But it appears to be the technological hub of the base, so we’re assuming-”

“And we’re simply going to _observe_ this possibly crucial information?” Damian intercepts again, crossing his arms. “This is an excellent opportunity to gather intelligence. The League wants justification to invade Mongolia, correct?”

“Well, yes.” Kaldur agrees, clearly attempting to discharge the situation. “But photos of military action should be plenty of evidence.”

“We’re also supposed to be providing some clarity on exactly what the League is up against.”

“That’s second priority.”

“For you, perhaps,” Damian cannot help himself from snapping. “For me it is priority number one. It would be the height of stupidity to pass up such an opportunity and so far the League have proven nothing but.”

“We need to trust in our mentors.” Kaldur insists but the other heroes don’t look so sure.

“You were only supposed to put out a fire at Cadmus,” Superboy reminds him. “But instead you followed your guts and freed me. What if we find something like that here?”

“I doubt there are any Kryptonian clones on ice in Mongolia, Con.” Robin says scathingly.

“But what if there is my key to returning home?” Damian retorts.

“I think he’s right, Rob.” Kid Flash says reluctantly, avoiding his look of betrayal. “This isn’t a real mission anyway: the League just want us out from under their feet. If you ask me, we should be able to make what we want of it.”

“I haven’t got the patience to sit around debating this.” Damian says, rising to his feet. “Let’s put it to a vote. All those in favour of being mollycoddled by the Justice League and serving no real function, raise your hand.”

Robin and Kaldur raise their hands. The rest of the team remains motionless. After a beat, Kaldur lowers his hand.

“Kal, what-?” Robin begins but he cuts him off with a shake of his head.

“I won’t vote against the majority of my team, Robin.” He says, eyes boring into his feet.

“That’s settled, then.” Damian says, meeting Robin’s acidic look head on. “You were saying?”

“Three teams.” Robin practically hisses. “Artemis, Superboy you’re investigating the military barracks. Take photos of weapons, an estimation of manpower and avoid detection. Miss Martian, Kid Flash you’ll be in the lab. M’gann, see if you can spot any alien technology. Wally, you’re our resident science buff: try and figure out exactly what experiments their conducting. Robin-” He winces as he says the name and this is all the hesitation Damian needs to cut in.

“I’m going to the information tower.” He says, tone utterly inflexible.

“Of course you are.” Robin says through gritted teeth. “Along with myself and Kaldur. I’ll try and hack into their system but I can’t guarantee anything.” He attempts to shrug but his shoulders are so tightly wound, it looks more like a spasm. “If their technology is anything like the kind that machine was made of, I doubt I’ll make much headway.”

“Stay in touch over the mental link,” Kaldur reminds them. “And _be covert_. This entire outpost is effectively a military base. They can and will take us all down if we’re revealed. We’ll meet back at the bioship in an hour at the latest.”

“ _Be careful.”_ Miss Martian says over the mental link, settling the cloaked bioship down just outside the chain-link fence of the outpost. It’s an industrial looking settlement and from a bird’s eye view, amongst the parched green flat lands, one could easily mistake it for any other harmless slaughterhouse starving its workers on a tögrög a day. Up close, Damian notices the marks of more ambitious crime: the barbed wire lining the fence, the monotonous beat of military footfall and lurid yellow nuclear hazard signs, all screaming ‘Danger!’ in the most innate languages.

They’ve parked behind the vast military barracks meaning that for Superboy and Artemis, it’s a simple matter of scaling the fence and entering through an open window. Kid Flash and Miss Martian have a similarly easy matter of remaining undetected: she cloaks herself and he zips over to the smoking laboratory at a speed too fast for the human eye to detect. The information tower isn’t far away but this places it within shouting distance of a large population of soldiers meaning the two guards flanking its entrance cannot be physically subdued.

“We’ll have to cause a distraction.” Robin decides. They’ve found a sheltered spot between the barracks and the fence where they can crouch undetected. “A smoke bomb would be too suspicious, they’d have to investigate where it came from…”

Damian re-examines the blueprint of the base on Robin’s wrist computer. His mother has always taught him to make any battlefield his catbird seat and Grayson has always taught him to play to the strengths of his team. He’s certain the two philosophies can be combined…

“The water works.” He says suddenly, tracking the pipelines through the barracks with his finger. “The ones that supply the troops. Aqualad, if you cause a flood that should provide enough of a distraction to get us in.”

“Good idea, Robin.” Aqualad says, clapping him on the shoulder. He bats the hand off. “Right… sorry.”

Damian waits for a reaction from Robin but he only waves a hand, urging Aqualad on. Kaldur obeys, closing his eyes and raising a hand, and a second later there’s a burst and crash of water at the other end of the building, followed by several cries of alarm and the pounding of feet.

Damian almost has a heart attack when a second later Kid Flash’s voice reverberates in his mind. “ _That was you guys, right?_ ”

“ _Nothing to worry about, KF. Just raising a little hell_.” Robin returns. Aloud, he says: “The guards haven’t moved from their position.” Sure enough, the two outside the information tower are shuffling and scratching their heads, clearly too brainless to take any kind of initiative. “Give it some extra welly.” He suggests, and Kaldur assents. There’s an even more vicious blast of water and the two guards finally abandon their posts leaving the door to the tower exposed.

The trio creep over and Damian breaks the lock.

“They might notice that.” Robin points out but Damian rolls his eyes.

“These troglodytes? They wouldn’t notice a broken lock on a door if someone hit them in the face with it.” He edges the door open and they all slip through into an empty entrance passage with one door and two sets of elevator doors. “And I’m somewhat tempted to…”

“No displays of aggression.” Kaldur chides, peering at the map again. “The placement of the aerial suggests the technological hub of the building is up that elevator.” He points to the one on the left then frowns. “But it does make me wonder what’s up the other…”

“We could split up.” Damian suggests, privately pleased at the opportunity to be alone with Robin. “You can investigate the right, we’ll try and collect the information from the left.”

“It might be nothing.” Robin argues, clearly uncomfortable.

“It has to be something.”

“I’ll check it out.” Kaldur decides, cutting off the argument before it could blossom any further. “I’ll be quick and keep you updated via mental link. You two do the same.”

“Kaldur-”

“Robin. It’ll be fine.” He promises, moving to the right. “I’ll see you in a minute.” He wrenches open the doors with his water bearers and begins climbing up the rope.

“Come on then.” Robin grizzles, stepping forward to hack open the elevator doors.

Damian immediately begins his interrogation. “Why are you treating me so coldly? Ordinarily you are trusting and friendly to the point of naivety and yet towards me you have been nothing but hostile and suspicious. I demand an explanation. Even your team has begun to trust me and yet you remain reticent.” The light above the elevator glows and the doors swing open. Robin leaps onto the top of the box, his cloak rippling behind him, and Damian follows. “I would not normally press the subject. I am no advocate of the touchy-feely. However, if you do have any sentimentalities you’re keeping bottled up, I’d rather you have out with them as opposed to allowing them to fester.”

They are now halfway up the coarse metal rope and Damian is still stoically addressing the back of Robin’s head. “I feel as if it’s affecting our productivity.” He continues, raising the volume of his voice on the off chance his companion has become miraculously deaf. “I know I am displeased to be so at odds with my-” He breaks off, curses himself, and hopes Robin did not notice his slip of the tongue. “With a fellow Gothamite hero.” This time it is Damian who opens the elevator doors, wrenching them open with a birdarang. They both hop out into a tight corridor. Across from the elevator is the open door to a small, buzzing room aglow with blue light. Damian can see the silhouette of only one person on-duty and swallows a tut at the chaotic management of this outpost. He wonders who is in charge of such a calamity in security.

“Be quiet.” Robin finally responds, and then mouths: “You knock him out, I’ll secure the area.” He jabs at the security cameras in the corners of the ceiling and then at his wrist computer. Damian gives him a withering look that screams ‘we-aren’t-done-with-this’ but obeys.

The man in the computer room has earbuds in making it all too easy to sneak up, clamp a hand over his mouth and knock him unconscious with a sharp jab to the neck. One earbud falls out and, out of curiosity, Damian holds it close to his ear. He recoils instantly: early-2000s pop. It’s either a comforting familiarity or a curdling distress that Western musical taste remains so constant in both this dimension and timeline. The sheer number of screens and devices in front of him is befuddling and he’s pleased when a moment later, Robin arrives to relieve him of any technological responsibility.

“Let’s take a look at you, lovely ladies.” He grins, his hands flying over the keyboard and Damian takes his good mood as permission to proceed with his verbal battery.

“Earlier when we were in Gotham you told me it was important to get me back to ‘my Batman’.” He says, leaning one hand obtrusively close to the computer Robin is tapping at.

He doesn’t move but does let out a small grunt of frustration as the screen blossoms red with ‘ACCESS DENIED’. “You remember that, huh?”

“I have a near photographic memory.” Damian informs him coolly. “I want to know what you meant by that.”

“What do you think I meant by it? Damnit!” He tacks on at the end, switching to his wrist computer as the device locks him out once more.

That’s a question Damian hadn’t anticipated. “It sounded to me as if you were… wistful.” He only receives a quiet, distracted “Really?” to that and so approaches the matter anew. “As if you were… jealous.”

This does make Robin’s head shoot up. “Jealous? I thought I was hiding it better.”

“ _You’re_ jealous of _me_?” Damian says, appalled. He had only been trying to rouse a reaction. He had not anticipated he would be anywhere near the truth.

Robin’s jaw ticks and he shakes his head. “Forget I said that. It’s stupid. That isn’t what I meant.”

“Why in the world would you be jealous of me?” Damian persists anyway. The very idea is baffling. What does Grayson have about him to be envious of? He has never been jealous of Damian’s talents: he has a wealth of his own and besides, was never the kind to grudge someone’s skill. The only thing he can really think of is his blood connection to his father but it has always been clear who’s the more legitimate son.

“I can’t hack this in an hour.” Robin says, ignoring the question and drumming his fingers anxiously against his knees. “We should let Kaldur know that-”

Speak of the devil, Kaldur’s voice materialises in their heads, somehow panicked and breathless even across the mental plain. “ _Team, Klarion is managing this outpost. I repeat: **Klarion is managing this outpost.**_ ”

“ _What?_ ” explode Kid Flash, Robin and Artemis in chorus with a strength that makes Damian clutch at his head.

“ _This Klarion is a member of the Light?_ ” He queries, unaware of the gravity of the situation.

“ _A Lord of Chaos._ ” Kaldur agrees. “ _He has a room in the information tower. I caught him on a video call to some other members of the Light with their faces blacked out, of course. He was mainly just complaining about being stuck in the middle of nowhere but he did let slip that they’re preparing for a big event in two days’ time. He called it the Assertion. He talked about not just undermining the League but overwhelming it. He said-_ ” Kaldur appears to lose his breath for a second though through exertion or fear Damian cannot tell. “ _He said to prepare for the rule of chaos in all parallel universes._ ”

“ _Kaldur,_ ” Robin thinks urgently. “ _I’m not going to be able to download the information in time. We have to leave without it._ ”

“ _No way!_ ” Damian thinks viciously, yanking Robin by the shoulder to face him. “ _We now have a deadline of two days. I am not leaving without all the possible resources we can access._ ”

“ _It would take too long!_ ” Robin insists.

“ _And we don’t have long!_ ” Artemis suddenly asserts, momentarily followed by a flashing of red lights and blaring alarms. “ _We’ve been spotted. We need to head back to the bioship now!_ ”

“ _I am not leaving without that information!_ ” Damian thinks stubbornly. “ _Do not head to the bioship, group in the computer room. I know a way to hack the computers but you’ll all have to defend us_.”

“How?” Robin asks aloud at the same time as Kid Flash wildly asks “ _How will we escape?_ ”

“ _Leave that to me._ ” Damian thinks in answer to both. “ _Kaldur, this is your lead. Do I have permission?_ ” It smarts to ask but it’s truly a formality. Damian has their hands tied.

“ _You do_.” Kaldur thinks wearily. “ _But whatever you’re doing, do it fast. We’ll drag you kicking and screaming if we have to_.”

“ _As if you could._ ” Damian thinks and then remembers they're mentally linked. “ _I mean, loud and clear_.”

“Well?” Robin says, sweat glittering on his forehead under the red lights. “What’s your master plan?”

“This.” Damian reaches into his utility belt and withdraws his override stick.

“Where did you get that?” Robin asks in awe.

“I doesn’t matter.” Damian says defensively. He quickly plugs in the stick, wary lest Robin recognise his own handiwork. “What matters is that it will get us into that computer and download its contents quicker than any hacker of flesh and bone.”

Kaldur appears in the doorway. He must have run the whole way from the gasping sounds he’s making, like a drowning fish. “I took out two soldiers on the way up and there’s more coming. Do you have anything to secure the lift?”

Damian reaches into his utility belt and removes one of the foam capsules. “Wait until the others arrive and then chuck this down the elevator chute.”

“What does it do?” Kaldur says, handling it as if it’s filled with either dynamite or cyanide. This makes Damian smirk.

“You’ll see.”

In the following minute, the rest of the team trickle in, already decorated with cuts and bruises from various altercations. No one is shot, Damian notices with relief, which means they were all smart enough to stay out of the way of guns. Kaldur disappears with Kid Flash to detonate the pellet and when he returns a moment later, the speedster is grinning idiotically.

“Why does it now look like a cotton candy machine exploded down the elevator chute?”

“Hardening foam.” Damian explains. “It won’t hold them once they get out a bazooka but it should do for now.”

“The future is amazing.” Kid Flash sighs. “Who in the hell is the genius that formulated that?”

It was Drake so the compliment makes Damian frown. “A nerd with an overinflated sense of self-importance.” The override stick is nearing 75% but there’s an ominous boom and then a cackle from outside the room which Damian takes to mean the foam did not hold as well as he’d anticipated.

“Klarion.” Superboy growls.

“Don’t let him near the room.” Kaldur orders. “Robins, you stay here. We’ll hold him off.”

They rush out and moments later there’s a sounds of crashing and general warfare. “Did I make that stick?” Robin suddenly says out of the blue. Up until this point he’d been watching the progress of the override with an intense fascination Damian had written off as a fellow hacker’s interest. “It looks like my code. Why did I give that to you?”

“You didn’t.” Damian lies through gritted teeth as the stick begins downloading all the files on the computer.

“I did.” Robin says, with more confidence now. “It must have taken me forever to write.”

“You’re a better hacker in the future.” Is Damian’s half-hearted excuse.

“Not that much better. But I wanted you to have it as a failsafe, so I _felt safe_. Why did I do that?” He seems genuinely perplexed, as if doubting his own actions. The implication that he couldn’t give a damn about Damian’s safety hurts him just as much as it angers him.

“You said so yourself: it’s in case of emergency.”

“I guess this constitutes.” Robin mutters and then falls into a contemplative silence. Oddly, some of the irritation has fallen from his face to be replaced by a pained confusion, the kind Damian supposes is only natural when faced with the contradictory actions of your future self.

He doesn’t have time to decide the outcome he wants his younger mentor to reach because at that moment the rest of the team stagger back into the cramped room. Artemis is supporting Miss Martian who appears to be unconscious and they all seem even more banged up than before. They remain, from what Damian can see, unshot and unstabbed which he supposes he must be satisfied with. However, their entrance is followed by that of a thin, pale, malicious looking man in a tailored black suit. His hair is gelled into spikes resembling horns and around his skinny white neck, a raggedy ginger cat purrs with the ferocity of a hive of wasps. His features are twisted and cruel, neither young nor old but suspended in an inhuman ambiguity. This is Klarion: the Lord of Chaos.

“Well, well, well.” He croons, reaching up a hand to tickle his cat’s chin. Damian looks at the progress of the override and finds it inching towards 80% download complete. Robin has one hand resting around the stick, ready to pull it out as soon as it’s completed its task so Damian gives the deranged villain his full attention. He can drag this out. He looks like the type that tends to monologue.

“Well, well, well.” He repeats and Damian can’t stand people who repeat themselves for effect. “If it isn’t the wittle Justice League and their new fwend! Robin, isn’t it?” He grins, flashing sharp white canines. “I’ve heard all about you. Our little stowaway! You are just the darndest thing.”

“And you look like you haven’t seen sunlight in a decade and live on lemons.” Damian retorts, crossing his arms.

Klarion cackles, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “You are sassy! I adore the change of pace of a parallel universe. It leaves me itching to break as many little birdie wings as I can.”

“You’re a Lord of Chaos?” Damian asks. “I’m unsurprised. This base is the most shoddily managed villainous operation I’ve seen in my life. What on earth are you doing here?”

Klarion adopts a childish pout, offset by the truly savage glint in his eyes. “I know! It’s no fun at all in Mongolia. I just know everyone else if having a whale of a time in-” He covers his mouth with a hand.

“Where?” Damian says instantly.

“That’s for me to know and you to NOT find out.” Klarion giggles, his raspy voice reminiscent of a cat’s yowl. His hands begin to glow blood red. “I’m sorry, children, I’d love to play a little longer but the Light really wouldn’t like it if the wittle League messed up our plans a second time. Better to get you out of the way now.”

“It’s finished downloading!” Robin cries, and not a moment too soon as a red spire of electricity flies from Klarion’s finger, aimed at Damian’s head. He ducks and it strikes the computer instead which makes Klarion stomp his feet in frustration.

“No! That costs a lot of money!” He hollers, with the energy of a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. “Now you’re in for it! Teekl!”

His cat leaps from his shoulders and hisses savagely at the heroes. Damian feels a genuine pang of the heart. “Don’t hurt him!” He orders Artemis, who has immediately aimed an arrow.

“What?!” She shouts in response and a second later he understands her side of things as the cat transforms into a hulking beast that lunges at Superboy. He falls to the ground grappling the thing and Klarion’s fingers crackle with that same red electricity, striking Aqualad and Artemis and causing them to writhe in pain.

“You said you had a plan!” Robin yells, ducking another burst of crimson light. “Do something!”

Ignoring his inner animal lover who protests heartily to Superboy’s mistreatment of the werecat, Damian removes his most powerful explosive birdarang from his utility belt. “Lemon-face!” He cries to get the Lord of Chaos' attention and then aims the weapon a little to his left. When it misses him, the Klarion laughs in malevolent delight so he misses Damian’s next shout to “Get down!” which sends the rest of the team dropping to the floor. The birdarang curves back and lodges in the opposite wall. As soon as it makes contact, it explodes and Klarion is knocked off his feet by a blast of hot air and rubble.

Superboy shakes off Teekl who mewls and pounces over to scrabble at his master. “A loyal companion.” Damian acknowledges.

The other sidekicks look at him like he’s crazy. “So there’s a hole in the wall.” Kid Flash says. “Now what do we do? We’re two storeys up.”

“We jump out of it.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, only one of us can fly and Miss Martian is unconscious.” Artemis says irately, still supporting the Martian with one arm.

“I know.” Damian says with a grin. “Luckily I know a way to soften the landing but we’ll have to run as fast as we can as soon as we hit the ground. The soldiers will be after us.”

Klarion groans and Damian takes that as his cue to exit. “Just trust me!” He yells and leaps out of the hole in the wall.

He’s met by a cloud of foam and scrambles to his feet. Above him his team’s horrified faces peer over, clearly expecting to see his shattered form on the concrete. Perhaps a little insensitive, Damian thinks, examining the paralysed look on Robin’s face in particular, but it worked.

“Jump!” He demands. He can already hear the military closing in. This time, the heroes do not hesitate. Seconds later they’re all racing for the bioship, ducking bullets with the screeching of Klarion ringing in their ears; luckily for them, he appears to have lost all control over his powers in his rage because if he’d chosen to say, drop the ground out from under them, they’d be toast. They scale the fence, board the bioship and with Kaldur at the helm, they’re in the air, cheering in victory as they leave the outpost behind.

The celebrations are short lived as the adrenaline wears off and there’s a general wincing and complaining of wounds. For a while they all form a huddle around Miss Martian, Superboy clenching her hand until she regains consciousness over Siberia, disoriented and concussed but in little pain and with no fear of permanent damage. This seems to reignite the victorious spirit of the team and soon Kid Flash bursts into a verbal singalong of that noxious 2000s pop. Everyone briefly participates, even Damian feeling involved in the energy if not the lyrics of the song and permitting himself to tap a foot along to the beat. When the mob fervour wears off, no one even minds Kid Flash continuing to sing drunkenly in the background, clearly burning off excess adrenaline.

It’s to the mutilated tune of ‘Genie in a Bottle’ that Robin comes to join Damian, a first aid kit in one hand. “Are you injured anywhere?” He says by way of introduction and when Damian shakes his head, he points out a scratch he hadn’t even noticed on his arm.

“Can I stitch it?” Robin asks, in that apologetic tone Damian recognises so well as the hallmark of resolution, and thus eagerly offers his permission.

He cleans the wound and Damian barely feels the sting he’s so on edge to hear what Robin has to say. He neatly stitches the wound and then sits back, biting his lip. His fingers fly up to the edge of his mask which he then tries to play off as itching his nose but Damian sees right through the façade: he wants to remove it. That means he’s speaking to Dick Grayson right now, not just Robin.

“I’m sorry for being ‘irritable’.” He starts off with a watercolour smile, quoting Damian’s own word. “I haven’t been really mad at you. I mean, I have, but more so at Batman and… myself.”

“There’s no reason to be mad at yourself.” Damian says, and then elaborates lest that come across as soft. “There are plenty of reasons to be mad at Batman but you haven’t done anything worth that kind of self-punishment. I wouldn’t have let you get away with it if you had.”

“I’ve been thinking some stupid things.” Robin says and Damian figured as much: it’s the only thing that would have his mentor acting so strangely. “Some unfair things mainly. I guess seeing that override stick…” He pauses, chooses his next words carefully. “It was like a slap in the face from my future self. Because…you’re a hero. You’ve proven yourself to my team, the League and now even me from the future is telling me to trust you. I can’t deny it any longer for my own selfishness’ sake.” He sighs, a look of pure defeat on his face. Damian doesn’t like that he looks so bad. This wasn’t exactly how he’d wanted their reconciliation to go. “I didn’t want you to be better than me because I wanted to hold on to Robin. But now I see that-”

There’s a rumble as the bioship sets down and Damian’s irritated that they’re back so soon, just as he and Robin were finally getting somewhere. “But now you see that-” He prompts. However, the spell seems to have broken and with everyone else disembarking, excited to regale their mentors with the tale of their success, Robin too rises and dusts himself off.

“Let’s go give Batman our mission report.” He says, smile even feebler. Damian thinks he’d prefer it if he went back to being emotionless. Now he’s hard to look at because Grayson should never look so broken. “Maybe we’ll talk afterwards, ok?”

“We _will_ talk afterwards.” He says stubbornly and he’s just about to carry on trying to convince him when there’s a vibration in his pocket.

He stops, feels ice freeze in his stomach, tingle through his heart and then lodge in his throat. The vibration is followed by a persistent beep-beep-beep which sets the pace of his pulse. He shouldn’t be hearing that sound. It’s just as familiar to him as it is foreign in this particular environment. There is no way his communicator should be ringing right now.

Robin must recognise the noise too because his mouth his agape as Damian slowly removes the device from his pocket. “Is that your-”

“Yes.” Damian forces through cold-numbed lips.

“Someone’s contacting you. Who could possibly be contacting you?”

Damian examines the caller ID, pulling the screen close to him with fumbling fingers. He lets out a shaky breath as his eyes focus on the name:

“Batman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lemme know what you think, sorry for the cliffhanger, hope yall had a happy holidays!!  
> kudos, comment (if you like, i can't make you do anything) :D


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone is calling across space and time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is short it is underwhelming and i'm SORRY but i couldn't leave y'all waiting  
> originally this and the next chapter were supposed to be one but it's going to take me too long to sort out the emotional intricacies of the next one so i'm posting this to tide you over... as a treat :)  
> it's plot. that's all. again, real sorry folks. we'll get into the juicy emotions as soon as i have time and THE WRITING CAPACITY

They nearly run into his father on their way to the briefing room.

They’re inches away from the entrance when he suddenly appears, melting out from the shadows like some sort of gothic phantom. The sudden appearance of his indomitable black frame forces them to screech to a halt and Damian takes the opportunity to thrust his communicator, still glowing and beeping, into his face.

He examines it and the two of them with a look of numb surprise. “Is this you?” Damian demands through hasty breaths.

His father’s face hardens. “No.”

“Then it’s him.” Damian says to himself, voice hushed and private. “It’s Batman.” He doesn’t waste a second more, shouldering his way past the pillar of cloak and storming into the briefing room, only distantly aware of his estranged family members trailing behind him. “It’s Batman!” He repeats with more vigour and his team, who look suspiciously like their receiving a lecture from a weary Black Canary, perk up in alarm. He raises the communicator aloft and strides over to them, like it’s his trophy on a victory lap. “He’s finally contacted me! It’s about time, I was beginning to suspect…” The words die out in his throat, swept away on a wavering breath and a tightly pursed smile. “But he’s contacting me. Finally!”

“Batman from the future?” Black Canary says, glancing intensely at various faces in quick succession. “Should we be listening to this?”

“Relax, he’s hardly likely to be tossing around details from the future willy-nilly.” Damian scoffs. He doesn’t know whether it’s from a place of pride or a need to prove himself that he wants his team to meet the _real_ Batman but either way, he ushers them over as he places his communicator reverently down. He senses the looming presence of his father behind him and Robin’s uneasy shifting feet at his side but ignores them, mind already a parallel world away. With a steady hand, he accepts the call.

“This is Batman calling from Gotham city, year 2020. Code words: tangled web and empty nest.”

Damian feels his heartbeat soar like a bird and can’t supress the wide grin that instinctively spreads across his face at the sound of Batman’s voice. The past few days could have been a violent dream for all they matter now. “Batman, this is Robin. It’s about time-”

“The time is 2:25 AM. This is a recorded message.”

And just as Damian’s heart had soared a moment before, he feels it plummet and drop, heavy and dead to the bottom of his stomach. At the exact same moment, whispered with all the fervour of sacrilege in a cathedral, Robin says “That’s not Batman.”

Damian can’t bring himself to look at him but Robin’s shallow breaths suggest the one admission has swept all the air from his lungs. He too finds himself unable to speak, biting down emptily as he searches for the pertinent thing to say. What is the procedure in a situation like this? Should he turn off the communicator? Run whilst he has the chance?

Before he can make a decision, he’s arrested by his mentor’s voice.

“Robin, we will have no way to confirm that you have received this message.” The recording continues. “If this communicator has fallen into the hands of the Justice League, please relay this message to either Robin, or, if he is incapacitated, Batman. If it has not, then hand this communicator in to the authorities. Once they are in possession, it is imperative that it finds its way to the first line of planetary defence.”

“Now, to whoever is still listening, pay close attention. Our entire dimension is in extreme danger.”

Somehow hearing Batman say it gives the threat of the Light a whole new sense of peril. Up until this moment, Damian’s main target has been to return home and it still is, for the most part. However, Batman’s appeal is a reminder that returning to his world is only half the battle. The Light will follow him there: he cannot escape its imminence merely by prioritising something else. The dimension truly is at stake and Damian has been ignoring that risk for the sake of his own selfish designs. If possible, his heart sinks even further. Grayson has a way of making him feel morally culpable without even being in the room. What would Batman say if he could see his Robin now?

“It has been approximately 48 hours since Robin travelled through what we can only describe as a portal to a parallel universe and since then, our investigation has unveiled an even more sinister plot. A villainous organisation functioning under the moniker of ‘The Light’ functioning from an external parallel world have placed roots in our Gotham and are planning what they describe as an ‘Assertion’ at midnight in two days’ time. We do not know the specifics of their exact intent, but they have technology which can access parallel worlds meaning we could be anticipating a case of inter-dimensional invasion or even destruction. Either way, they have enlisted the aid of many of Gotham’s most dangerous and in our world alone, appear to have enough military power to overwhelm a small city. We know, however, that their plans are far more ambitious.”

“Two days ago, they attempted to eliminate the threat posed by Robin and I in our world and funnel more arms into your parallel universe. Only Robin’s ingenuity prevented this plot from succeeding.”

The compliment, intended to act as a balm, only makes the sting of Damian’s conscience worse. He hadn’t been intending to prevent the villains’ plan from succeeding; he’d just been trying to save himself and Batman.

“I barely managed to escape but he was displaced and is somewhere in your universe. Despite all his… external appearances, he is an excellent hero and can be trusted. It is imperative he receive this message. Red Robin has found a way to repair and reverse-engineer the machine in our world and as a result, at the same time as the Light attempt to carry out their ‘Assertion’, it will connect with its twin in your universe and allow myself and heroes from my world to travel through it. We will attempt to neutralise the threat of the Light and take Robin home, however we are relying on support from either the Justice League or its alternative. The strength of the Light is simply too strong for our forces to subdue on our own and we will be operating within a limited time frame: Red Robin calculates that we will only be able to keep the portal open for a few hours at most.”

“Half an hour at least, and that’s a guesstimate.” Comes a slightly muffled voice from somewhere in the background.

“Thank you, Red Robin, for that helpful addition.” Batman growls and Damian would relish his impatience with Drake if he didn’t so badly wish to trade places with him. He’d put up with Batman being impatient with him if he could be impatient in person. “To clarify: Robin, you must be at the machine at midnight in approximately two days’ time in order to rendezvous. I won’t be leaving without you, but it will make things difficult if we cannot return within that time frame. We also appeal to your world’s first line of planetary defence to take this threat seriously and fight with us. From what we can tell, the Light is like a weed. If we do not uproot it now, it will only continue to spread and then no one in this dimension will be safe. Midnight. Two days’ time. Do not let us down, or innocent lives will be lost. Batman out.”

Robin compares the silence that ensues to the kind that occurred after the reveal of his heritage. This, he thinks, is worse. If that silence had been the kind that followed the dropping of an atomic bomb, this was the silence that fell at a funeral. Everyone is waiting for someone to give the eulogy for the deceased.

Everyone is looking at Robin. Robin is looking at Damian. Damian is looking at his boots.

Every word Batman had said, every cold, impersonal word, had been like a spike of ice forced down his throat. The tinny parting words of the message still ring in his ears, and as they die the distance between Damian and his home seems to stretch out into a freezing, lifeless infinity. The two days ahead of him appear insurmountable with such meagre comfort: an affirmation of his skill, a hesitation before the word hero…

What had he been hoping for? He hated when Grayson got sentimental, would have been appalled at the thought of his sappy ramblings falling into enemy hands. Perhaps what he hoped for was different from what he wanted. Who could blame his mentor for struggling to keep up? He had faith that Damian would be the hero, work with the League, be Robin without a Batman and so far he had let him down at every turn, risking the safety of the dimension, antagonising his teammates and-

“That wasn’t Batman.” Robin says quietly, finally.

“Yes.” Damian says. “It was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't even leave a kudos i don't deserve it. i am trying very hard and this fic will survive!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth is revealed. Mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did someone order some ANGST  
> hello friends and comrades, yes, i have been absent for a while  
> yes, education is difficult and time consuming and i've barely had time to work, let alone write this emotionally complex fic  
> NO i will NOT give you up, let you down, run around or (heaven forbid) desert you  
> so it is nearly midnight (UK time) but this next chapter is up and it's short and spicy >:)))

“That wasn’t Batman.” Robin says, quietly, finally.

The silence feels like an overcast day in Gotham with a mizzling mist in the air. Damian had crouched by the gravestone long after everyone else had left, gathering a dusting of moisture on the shoulders of his grey wool coat, unsure where he was expected to go now. Grayson had an umbrella, a blue umbrella at a funeral, had covered his head and walked him home…

“Yes,” Damian says softly, eyes still staring up into an umbrella-blue sky. “It was.”

It had been the worst day of his life because he had felt so powerless. Here he was at his father’s funeral without a kind word to say about him that wasn’t pirated from bedtime stories. Grayson had been a nuisance but kind, considerate. Damian had been flattered he’d thought of him, remembered that Batman had a true son grieving him and not just his illegitimate charity brood. It had given him the self-confidence he needed to knock his outstretched hand away with a tut, step back into the manor as if it belonged to him even if it was Grayson’s name on the lease.

“No.” Robin says again, more insistently, his voice cutting gratingly into Damian’s memories. “It wasn’t. It was a good imitation, but it wasn’t his voice. He used _similes_. He was too…”

“Charismatic?” He suggests tersely. “Modest?”

Grayson had stopped him front of the Wayne family portrait and his smile wavered as he pointed out the little boy standing between his mother and father. Somehow the painter had managed to capture that he was glowing with love, his normally steely blue eyes illuminated sea-blue in glittering tints.

“You look exactly like him.” Grayson said which, for the first time out of the many times he’d heard it, made Damian frown. He had never smiled the way that little boy is smiling.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Robin demands and the daydream shatters. Damian recognises with a cold, gripping certainty, the grief in his voice. He had vainly hoped the heroes would not cotton on so quickly, that he would be able to feed them some story of a butterfly-farm retirement. He should have anticipated they’d realise that if Bruce Wayne wasn’t Batman anymore, he was dead.

“Perhaps the interference altered his voice.” Black Canary suggests gently when he finds he cannot respond. “It sounded so much like him, Robin.”

“Or he might just have a cold.” Superboy offers. He winces as soon as the words are out and puts up no resistance when Artemis claps her hand over his mouth.

“What Superboy means,” She says. “Is there’s no point jumping to conclusions. Kid, back us up.” Artemis is looking at him, a frazzled desperation alight in her eyes. She wants to believe it as much for her own sake as Robin’s, he realises. “Tell him that was Batman.”

Damian chances a glance at his father and immediately knows that Batman knows. He’s staring into the middle distance, no doubt brooding over something gothic and existential, every inch the condemned man. To think that only hours before he had been dreading facing him again: now this man has an expiry date tattooed permanently across his forehead. Sometime in the next decade, give or take a few parallel inconsistencies here and there, he will die. He might as well already be dead.

Damian supposes that means he’s killed him.

Robin is certainly looking at him as if he has. Damian reflects, not for the first time, on the mercy that is the domino mask. If he had to meet his mentor’s piercing blue eyes, even staring out from a younger, belligerent face, he reckons he might just spontaneously combust. People who presume that Richard Grayson has no superpower are sorely mistaken; with a look he can charm, coax or strike the fear of God into a person.

Damian had used to consider it a shallow talent and one that he was by and large immune to. He has long since ceased underestimating him.

“Of course it was Batman.” He says. There’s a temptation to leave it at that, to postpone the inevitable reveal. But Robin’s resolute expression just dares him to lie, to take the coward’s way out. He must inflict the harrowing truth to avoid the slow, painful poison of another deception. “It was Batman.” He says again. “But it was not my father.”

Miss Martian lets out a spontaneous sob that reverberates brokenly through the mountain. Black Canary sheds and wipes away a single tear. There’s a palpable moment of conflict where each of them grapples with the news which, at first glance, appears impossibility. Batman gone and the world still spinning? The Dark Knight reduced to a insensate corpse, resting like any other cadaver beneath dirt and detritus? This man before them, as intangible as the ink that writes bedtime stories, dead?

“Then he’s…” Kid Flash says, unable to complete the simple statement. “Batman’s actually…”

“You _knew_.” Robin says, and the fresh revelation seems to wrack him with even greater strength than the first. The look that Damian is faced with is one of utter betrayal, complete rejection. “You were going to let him die.”

“The entire dimension cannot be put at risk for the sake of one man.” He responds and is impressed by the cool, evenness of his voice. This is a verdict he has rehearsed to perfection so that the lines can be delivered with utter emotionlessness. He is judge, jury and executioner and knows the sentence he must award. “The reveal of my heritage was one thing but to extend Batman’s mortality would devastate the timeline. As a factor, he is too influential.”

“He isn’t just a factor.” Robin insists. “He’s your father.”

“Not this one.” Damian retorts. He pities Batman with another glance but finds no reward for his pains: the whites of the cowl remain trained down, perhaps already envisioning the deep, dark embrace of the earth closing around him. “I knew my father longer dead than alive. This one’s yours.”

“We must be able to do something.” Artemis suggests, impotently. She worries at her lip, settling uncomfortably on an appeasement. “Unless… is it natural? Peaceful?”

“Who cares?” Robin says, an edge of hysteria entering his voice. “Either way, it’s too soon. 10 years – that isn’t enough time. No,” He shakes his head, as if this can dislodge the prospect from his mind. “Batman can’t die. I won’t allow it. We won’t allow it. Right guys?”

They greet him with a sombre silence, heads bowed. It is almost impressive how, in a moment, they have gone from disbelieving to already grieving. The funeral scene flashes before Damian again: this was how the Justice League had looked waiting in line to toss the earth on his father’s coffin, wearing the black admiration that came with the conclusion of a spectacular magician’s act. Batman was a man who balanced so tenuously on the line between reality and legend, life and death that for him to one day slip and silently descend into the latter is no horror. Once the shock has faded, the mind come to terms with that absence of shadow, it is merely a case of now you see me, now you don’t. He has even left an indistinguishable replacement behind to start the trick again: it is an act cleverly done. Why push it?

Damian had accepted the death with the exact same compliance: the shadow of his father had retreated to his proper place in childhood mythology, his brief entrance and exit into Damian’s life little more than a brush with the chimerical that left him mourning divine impossibilities. But Robin is one of the few people for whom Batman is real: a hero, a man, a father. A world without him is a world missing a pulsing, vital part, a central organ ripped, still oozing, from the shuddering chest.

He is in agonising pain. Damian does not know how to soothe it.

“You’re attempting to save his life.” He says. He tries to make his voice sound comforting and reasonable but it comes out stilted. In truth, he’s disturbed by the stubborn narrow-mindedness displayed by his mentor and unsure how to handle it. If logic won’t convince him, he must test other modes of appeal. “That is admirable. But pause to consider the consequences of disturbing a time line as fragile as the one between our parallel worlds. People will undoubtedly die.”

“What about the people who’ll die because Batman isn’t there to protect them?”

“Think rationally.” Damian orders, unable to erase the beginnings of impatience from his tone. “This is a decade into the future. Gotham now has perhaps an excess of vigilantes, in my opinion.” The last part is grumbled, directed mentally at someone who will not be named but rhymes with Snimothy Snake. “Take myself for instance. As his conduct so far has proven, my father would never have allowed me to become Robin but I have saved hundreds, if not thousands of people. You’d exchange the security of those lives for one man?”

“And that man in the recording,” Robin says bitterly and Damian had wondered when that would come up, had been dreading the emotional minefield it presented. “I presume he never would have become Batman if your father hadn’t died?”

“Perhaps.” Is the only stiff response. “He took up the cowl because somebody had to.”

“He stole it.” Robin hisses. “Was the body even warm before he snatched it from his head?” He seems to appal himself by the vividness of the image and shudders, furious. “I will never allow that to happen.”

“You will.” Damian says, almost pushed to mocking laughter by the absurdity of it all. “And if your older self were here, he would agree with me that you cannot change his fate. The consequences of trying to alter the future are always disastrous, you taught me that.”

“Then I taught you wrong.” Robin says sharply and then, as if reading Damian’s mind, begins to laugh himself, an unstable parody of his usual cackle that cuts through them all. “And to think I was willing to put my faith in my future self because of one USB drive,” His laughter cuts off abruptly and is replaced by an enraged curled lip. “When he allowed an imposter to parade around Gotham calling himself Batman. That man isn’t Batman which means you’re not Robin. And don’t you dare,” His voice softens to a deadly whisper, rich with a tingling, barely controlled maelstrom of grief and anger and fear. “Try to tell me what I should be thinking or feeling again, as if you know me. You think you can wear a cape and my colours and claim to have some kind of sacred understanding of me, as if we’re anything alike? You’re an assassin. You’ve probably killed someone for every one of those people you’ve saved. I’d thought you’d changed but all you’ve done is proven you’re willing to kill again.”

Damian’s ears are ringing. He’s aware he’s now the one who must look betrayed. When he speaks his words sound empty, small, and distant. “You don’t mean it. You’re in shock, letting your emotions cloud your judgement.”

Robin opens his mouth again, no doubt ready to grant him another blistering rebuttal, but his jaw slams shut when a heavy hand drops onto his shoulder, features once more crumpling into an expression of acute sorrow as he turns to face Batman.

“I agree.” His father says gravely, contrastingly betraying not a single emotion besides hollow resignation. “This debate has gone on long enough and will not reach a conclusion. We can discuss this privately, Robin, once you’ve composed yourself.”

To his obvious surprise, Robin does not shake off the hand. Instead he presses his own on top of it, looking into Batman’s face so earnestly he’s practically on his tiptoes. “Family, B, that’s what you said being Robin was about,” His voice cracks. “Family. If saving your life means clouding my judgement or losing my composure, what kind of choice is that?”

Barely perceptibly, like an extra crack in a rugged tower of rock, Batman softens. “A necessary one.”

“An unnecessary death.” Robin persists. “Your death, B, what kind of hero am I if I can’t prevent your death? Will you make me lose my family a second time?”

“Rob.” Kid Flash gasps and Batman cracks, again, paralysed in that way he gets when forced to confront his own feelings.

That’s something he’s inherited. It’s too much for Damian, too personal, an emotional tangle he has found himself thrust into the middle of with no place there. It’s almost a relief when Robin turns on him again, quivering with anger as opposed to misery.

“You can stop this.” He says firmly. “How does he die? How do we stop it?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Yes you can!” He explodes, moving so suddenly and violently towards Damian that he’s forced to take a step back. “Yes you can! So just tell us how.”

“You know that I cannot.”

“I don’t know anything about you anymore. How does he die?”

“Quickly. Relatively painlessly.” It’s a cruel thing for Damian to say but he feels cornered, interrogated and it makes Robin look ill.

“You’re sadistic.” He says savagely. “You’re not Robin. Robin would never let Batman die.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

“But you are! By remaining silent, by hurling excuses at us about timelines and dimensions-”

“Robin, dude, calm down-”

“Shut up, Wally, just shut up and stay out of this!” Robin snarls and he does, falling back amongst the rest of their team who all look frozen with their faces various shades of Edvard Munch’s The Scream.

“I would never allow _my_ Batman to die.” Damian says, seizing the opportunity to elaborate.

“ _Your_ Batman? The one in the recording? The fake Batman?”

“He taught me everything about being Robin.” Damian hisses through gritted teeth. It no longer computes that this can be Grayson. He has said more spiteful, callow things to him in this one conversation than his mentor has in almost two years. “He is not _fake_. He is a better, clearer vision of what Batman is supposed to be.”

Simultaneously his father and Black Canary both blanch, wide eyes flying to him with horrified understanding. They know, Damian thinks, and swallows the hot lump of panic in his throat threatening to corrode the smouldering remains of his reason. It already feels too late.

“Robin,” Black Canary says softly, resolutely, desperately. “Please. Stop this now.”

“Chum, let’s talk privately about this.” Batman reasserts, voice steady and rational. Unfortunately, Robin is not in the mood for rational.

“A man who steals a dead hero’s identity, wears his clothes, copies his voice.” The intensity in his voice rises with every word as if each one tortures him. “Who taught his Robin to trample feeling and cut his family loose like they’re nothing? That’s the man you want to protect?”

“I want to protect you. You’ve taught me what it is to feel, the meaning of family!”

“I haven’t!” He cries. “I’ve given you nothing, don’t look at me as if I’m the one failing you, as if I’m killing _your_ father! For God’s sake, who is he then? Who’s worth all this… this fighting and secrecy and death? Who is he?

Who is Batman?”

“You are!” Damian says.

“It’s you.”

“You’re Batman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cliff hanger ~  
> you know i had to do it to em  
> honestly, i've proofread this once so if it's utterly incoherent, that makes sense  
> i hope you enjoyed, drop a comment if you did and a kudos is always appreciated mwah  
> (i'm very tired)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian finally gets that therapy session. Also tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise bitch. i bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.  
> I AM BACK LADS  
> i am NOT DEAD OF CORONA VIRUS as one dear commenter seemed to suspect school just drained not only all the energy but also all the creativity out of me  
> just a good old fashioned case of writer's block babey but i am back with a vengeance and we are on our way to closing down this fic and i know how it's going to end and we'll get there i promise!!  
> (EDIT: small warning for mentions of child abuse because ra's al-ghul is not a good grandfather)

Damian is not doing a very good job at the whole ‘don’t reveal the future’ thing.

It’s the ludicrous, sarcastic thought that pinwheels briefly through his head in the moments after he reveals maybe the greatest secret he had to keep:

_“It’s you. You’re Batman.”_

As soon as he says it, his throat closes up with the aggression of a boa constrictor and he slams his mouth shut as if he can catch the tail end of the confession and reel it back in before it reaches Robin’s ears. He cannot. It twists around the room like something alive, slithers up to each hero and sinks its fangs into them so that one by one they flinch and gape, heads revolving to stare at Robin in shock-horror.

He doesn’t acknowledge them. His face has slowly turned the colour of a grey, funerial sky as if he’s being petrified, digits stiffening, expression rigid. When he appears to return to the world of the living, it’s his jaw that grinds shut and then his limbs that make several jerky twitches, as if he’s cracking through the stone.

“I’m not.” He eventually croaks, voice young and raw and unyielding. “I won’t be. I don’t _want_ to be.”

It takes Damian a second to find his tongue but as soon as he does, he latches onto it. “You had to be. Gotham was descending into chaos. There was a true imposter Batman running around, threatening to execute criminals, disgracing father’s memory. Our family-” The words make his throat run dry and he has to take a moment to swallow them. They’re heavy, potent and he realises they mean just as much to him as they do to Grayson. “ _Our family_ was falling apart. They didn’t need you, they needed Batman. You were doing what you always do you predictable, intolerable, maddening simpleton: protecting your family!”

Damian’s cheeks are flushed but he can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or impassioned. It might be a combination of both. Robin, on the other hand, remains grey and inanimate. He might as well be hurling fireballs at a concrete wall. He’s shocked, Damian reminds himself, and the words will register later when he’s had time to put his prodigious brain to work. He always feels before he thinks. Every calculated action he takes has had to battle instinct before it’s enacted.

Unfortunately, Robin’s disparaging words towards himself won’t stop ringing through his head. He doesn’t want that to be the Batman Robin sees himself as, the fake Batman who snatched the cowl off a cooling corpse. He doesn’t even really want it to be the Batman in the recording, the efficient, clever mimicry.

He can’t put nearly 2 years of training and teamwork and support and care and those mutually sleepless nights when Grayson sits at what he clearly still thinks of as his father’s desk and just stares into the woodwork into words. He can’t bring the Grayson he knows to life, show him just how little he’s let the burden of the cape and cowl change him. This is all he can offer.

“You will be Batman.” He says. Despite the pounding in his head and the maelstrom in his stomach, the words emerge clear and convicted. “It may be a Batman of necessity and compromise, a role you hoped you’d never have to fulfil. You may hate it and resent it and wish every night and day that it could be someone, anyone else but the fact is that it can’t. And… and I might be being presumptuous, and maybe now that you’ve met me and clearly think so little of me we’ll never become partners in this universe, but from what I see as Robin, your Robin, you don’t hate it. Not all the time. And for heaven’s sake, what do you think is going to happen, all 7 billion of your friends will abandon you just because you have a costume switch? Or that there aren’t other heroes in Gotham with whom to distribute the load, who would probably fall on their swords if you asked them nicely? What I mean is…”

Robin’s lips have twisted white and Damian’s resolve almost threatens to crumble beneath him because that is Grayson’s rare tell: he is barely holding it together. Any minute now tears could begin to seep from beneath the domino mask. Damian clenches his fists and powers on, terrified he’ll be interrupted.

“What I mean is that just because you have to be Batman, it doesn’t mean you have to be _him_. You can do it better. You _do_ do it better. And we make a good team. So don’t let your grief skew your own perception of yourself.” It sounds insensible, laid out in a winding ramble of words like that. Damian can only also hope it sounds sincere. “And,” he adds one last time. “I am _sorry_ about my father. Excuse me.”

As he removes himself from the room, the muffled sounds of recuperation and Batman seeing to Robin blurring behind him, he reads over the speech in his head. It’s not very delicate or sympathetic. It’s blunt and a little mean considering the situation. It is all he, Damian, could offer.

He can now only hope that it is enough.

***

He wants to meditate on top of the fridge but he’s concerned that his teammates will find him there and then they’ll want to talk to him. He isn’t quite sure what to expect from them, whether they’ll attempt to comfort him or be angry at how he spoke to Robin. Either way, he doesn’t think he could stand another dose of emotion right now and so he avoids the rec room, retreating reluctantly to his pseudo-cell.

He forces himself to listen to the recording Grayson has sent again to note down any important details and does not think about his father. He checks himself over for injuries again and does not think about Robin. He makes a half-hearted attempt to finally mediate and does not think of his _mother_ , of all people and at such an inopportune moment. Determined to find something constructive to do lest he begin thinking of Drake or something equally ridiculous, he stands up and reaches for the door.

It slides open before he can touch it. Black Canary stands in the doorway.

The way she is looking at him, Damian almost suspects she has somehow borrowed Superman’s gift of x-ray vision. He instinctively straightens up and rearranges his face into what he knows is the cool, slightly proud expression befitting the heir to the Wayne and Al-Ghul dynasties.

“What?” He asks, powering an appropriate level of disdain into the question.

She merely hums, stepping through the door frame. “You wanted to be made aware of any developments in the case in real time. Well, Batman and other League members are combing through the information you provided and are hoping to find some way of disabling the machines the Light has created _without_ causing a vortex to a parallel universe. We also need to get a lead on where exactly this ‘Assertion’ is taking place so we can transport the League and the machine that brought you in it over there at the correct time.”

“So you’re accepting my Batman’s aid.” Damian notes with a nod. “A wise decision on your part.”

“We would be foolish not to.” Black Canary agrees. “And I think we can all agree we’ve been foolish enough these past few days. I’ve ordered the rest of your team to get some food and some sleep and I’d encourage you to do the same. You’ve just come back from an eventful mission and we’ll need you in top condition if we’re going to be facing an inter-dimensional threat in less than two days’ time.”

Damian feels his eyebrows raise in surprise. “You mean the team will be fighting alongside the Justice League during the Assertion?”

Black Canary smiles knowingly. “I convinced Batman that they’d find a way to be there one way or another. At least if we invite them we can know we’ve got their backs.”

“They are not entirely incapable of having yours.” Damian reminds her and she concedes the point.

“You’re right, of course. Now, can I trust you to get some sleep?”

“Yes. Of course.” He says but Damian is too slow to cover up his distaste. It’s not that he doesn’t understand the value of getting a good night’s sleep whilst he can, he merely doubts he’ll find it easy to drift off into peaceful oblivion if he can’t even meditate uninterrupted. His head feels too busy, his ordinarily impenetrable mental defences suddenly fraught with holes and perforated by dozens of insidious mental whisperings he can barely keep at bay.

The most vocal is a vicious refrain reminding him of all the faith Grayson had held in him to be the professional, to not allow his emotions to cloud him or make him lose focus on the wider mission. He knows he has failed him and the feeling is unbearable. It will not let him rest.

All of this must show on his face because the damned intuitive shrink hums again, tapping her finger against her chin in contemplation. “Ok,” She says at last. “Come with me to my office. I’m cashing in that therapy session.”

Despite all the emotional torment that has practically overflowed from this day, no words have struck quite as much terror into Damian’s heart as those. “Now?” He blusters. “At this moment when we could be doing vital work to ensure my return home?”

“Now.” She agrees. “Because I now have a solid timeframe for when exactly that will be. I’ll be losing you in less than 2 days, Robin, and I doubt things are going to slow down within that space. Now might be the only time we have. Plus…” An intelligent light glimmers in her eyes and he knows she’s about to reveal a trump card. “I haven’t seen hide or hair of Robin since you returned from your mission. I’m worried about him and I know you are too, there’s no point denying it. You two clearly have some things you need to talk about and perhaps if I can help you, you can help him.”

It’s underhanded, using a Robin’s Batman against him. It’s duplicitous and cheating and it has absolutely worked.

“Fine.” Damian says curtly. “But be warned, I have forced not one but two school psychiatrists out of a job, one of whom then filed for therapy himself not long after. I have also made a grief counsellor cry, a nurse swear and a TA threaten to stab me with a crayon.”

“I’m sure I can rise to the challenge.” Canary says, indefatigably perky and it is with a weary resignation that Damian follows her to her office.

He has never felt more encapsulated in the habitat of a shrink. Verdant plastic potted plants squat in the corners. The lights are dim, warm and cloying, the kind you might find in a greenhouse. It might make a regular person feel at ease but the hairs stand up on the back of Damian’s neck: the lack of visuals is oppressive and places him on edge. There are two plush green armchairs facing each other, flanked on either side by small tables. On the left where Black Canary will sit there rests a notepad and pen. On the right which Damian assumes is his allotted seat there is an ominous box of tissues.

The first thing Damian does is knock it to the ground. It lands with a hollow clatter and he’s frustrated when Black Canary titters lightly. He hadn’t meant to be amusing.

“I’m sorry,” She says. “I had M’gann in last.” Moving with an easy grace that comes with ownership of the space, she settles herself into her chair, tucking the notepad and pen away under the table.

“Congratulations.” Damian informs her dryly as he curls up on his own seat, crossing his legs and arms in tandem. “This haunt is practically Freudian.”

“I’ll admit, I’m not a huge fan of the rugged walls.” The walls and ceiling in here, as with the rest of the base, are made of rough mountainous rock. “It’s a little imposing.”

“Believe me,” Damian mutters into his chest. “It is the least imposing aspect of this place.”

Black Canary catches it, because of course she does, but she does not comment or heaven forbid scribble anything down. Instead she reaches behind her and produces a plate of sandwiches from out of thin air. “Here.” She says. “Neither of us have had anything to eat. I’ve got water too.” A jug follows the platter and two cups, one of which Damian reluctantly accepts.

“There’d better not be any meat in these.” He says, surveying the fare with suspicion.

“I’ve catered for all types throughout my career. Of course there isn’t.”

He gives a tut of grudging satisfaction and reaches for a sandwich. For a moment they chew in silence, Damian struggling to keep his guard up. Canary is good, enticing him with food and comfortable silence. However, she cannot make him forget the purpose of this meeting. It is an aggrandised interrogation and Damian does not intend to break.

Sure enough, after a few minutes of nothing, she asks him her first question. “Robin, I’d like to ask… what’s your name?”

He instantly bristles. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“We’ve been referring to you as nothing but your superhero identity this entire time. It’s dehumanising; I don’t want to speak to a superhero.”

“You can speak to Robin.” He insists, placing the remains of his third sandwich back onto the platter. The first two are immediately stodge in his stomach. “I’m not here as anyone else.”

She purses her lips but clearly recognises it would be hopeless to press. “Ok. In which case, I’ll move on to my second question-”

“How Socratic.” He quips and her lips curl into a smile.

“Question and answer. Old ways are the best ways. I didn’t think you’d appreciate me beating around the bush. My second question: when was the last time you cried?”

“This is nonsense-” Damian begins, rising from his chair but Black Canary holds out a hand to stop him.

“Wait a minute, Robin. Humour me. I promise you I have a purpose for this.”

He has done a lot of ‘humouring’ of Black Canary but has yet to laugh. He lets out a slow sigh through his nose, the breath whistling like a steam engine. He may have made a deal with this woman but he isn’t sure if his patience can bear it. “I presume my eyes ‘stinging with frustration’ does not count?”

She shakes her head. “I mean a proper, healthy cry. An emotional catharsis.”

“Fine. In which case…” He wracks his brain, casting his mind back past the dingy streets of Gotham and back to the arid sand and smells of the Middle East. It has been a long time, he realises, as he strains his memory like a weary muscle, but continues to plunge deeper back into the past, searching for tears, salt and the sting of shame: three things he associates with each other.

“I believe I was five.” He states eventually. “I had said something impudent to my grandfather; something trivial and meaningless but disrespectful all the same. He struck me with his cane.” He pauses for a moment, wrapped up so tightly in the memory that he can almost taste the metallic tang of blood and see one of his pearly white baby teeth swimming in a little pool next to him. “When he saw that I was crying, he struck me again. Tears are a show of weakness and he had no use for a weak heir. I quickly found more productive ways of venting negative emotion.”

When he meets Black Canary’s gaze again, he is sickened but unsurprised to find her features dripping with appalled pity. He is quickly regretting his own candour if this is all he will receive in return: useless, vapid pity.

“Don’t feel sorry for me.” He orders. “I received an exemplary upbringing with the finest education and training. I do not regret or resent any of my mother and grandfather’s methods. They have made me stronger.”

“It was systematic abuse.” Black Canary says softly, like a doctor breaking bad news to her patient. “Abuse doesn’t make for happy children.”

“I am hardly a child.” Damian scoffs, but he doesn’t like that she refers to him as one. Something about the word, so often hurled at him by villains or applied soothingly by Grayson gets under his skin, both irritating and cowing him. He does not want to be considered a child but somehow the suggestion that he is not an ordinary child, that he’s some sort of freakish, disturbed, _demon_ child upsets him even more.

He doesn’t know if Black Canary reads all of this from his countenance but she certainly reads something as she hums, making a mental note. “Ok.” She settles the matter with that word again. “Thank you, Robin. Now about your father-”

“Here we go.” Damian slumps slightly in his seat, unable to prevent his eyes from rolling skyward.

“A well-worn topic.” Canary guesses and if she was wearing glasses, she’d be peering over them. “I’m sure you’ve been told you resemble him a great deal.”

“By everyone.” He agrees. “Many times.”

“That must have become slightly irksome after he’d died.” She pointed out. “Perhaps it was painful to think of him.”

“Not at all.” He responds instinctively and then curses himself for the coldness in his voice. Somehow this rapid question and answer method is working too well. “I don’t mean it callously. I simply did not know my father for long at all before he died.”

“You grew up hearing all about him.” Black Canary suggests. “And he was a disappointment in the flesh.”

He’s struck by her accuracy and pauses to consider how to answer. Should he be truthful or maybe attempt to throw her off, say something she wouldn’t expect? Black Canary may not appear to be playing mind games but Damian knows a battle when he sees one. He must be on guard: he is on her home turf.

“It would be difficult for anyone to live up to the mythic my mother wove around my father.” Is all he responds, hoping that is cryptic enough to throw her off the scent. Instead she seems to lap up the morsel with enthusiasm, nodding her head a few times, leaving him feeling as if he’s the one who miss-stepped.

“I’m unsurprised.” She says. “You were born for a purpose, weren’t you Robin? I can’t imagine that’s an easy burden to bear.”

He blinks, bewildered. Where did that come from? He’s quickly losing the thread of this interrogation.

“I’ve chosen my own purpose.” He says, more than a little defensively. “As Robin.”

“One that checks your mother for manipulating you,” She notes. “But still satisfies your desire to follow in the footsteps of your father’s legacy. Do you still want something from him, from Batman?”

The truth suddenly douses him from head to foot, cold and certain. Damian cannot believe he has never seen it before. “No.” He blurts out. Black Canary looks up and meets his eye, clearly surprised. “From my father? Yes. I will always be left wanting more than what he left me. I did not know him, never knew what it was to be on the receiving end of his unconditional love. But from Batman? No.”

“Robin.” She says, understanding dawning on her face. “I mean _our_ Robin. He’s given you what you need from Batman.”

A partner. Someone he can trust, even if he can’t always bring himself to. Someone who will always trust him. Someone who could never replace his father but has somehow taken on an equally irreplaceable role, who has needled and squirmed his way into his confidence. Someone who looks at him and sees _Robin_.

Someone who had so much faith in him but who he has let down.

“I don’t want to talk about him.” He says automatically. That subject is too tender, too raw. His Grayson is too far away, this Robin somehow isolated even further. “We’ve established that I can’t have daddy issues since I don’t have a father and I’m happy with Batman and Robin the way we are. Can I leave now?”

She sighs, features morphing into a frown of frustration. It is the first time he has seen her truly discomfited: not sad or angry but merely dissatisfied. “What I wouldn’t give to make you a regular. Promise me you’ll at least consider seeking me out when you return to your world and give this another shot. You aren’t handling your emotions properly Robin, let alone taking into account your age, and you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I will make no such promise.” He says but the threat in her words doesn’t leave him. It is similar to something Grayson would say, that he’s eating himself from the inside out rather than processing his feelings in a ‘healthy way’. What is so unhealthy about good maintenance, pruning away troublesome emotions? If Damian’s body is a temple he intends to keep it in order, not allow sentiment and fantasy to run rampant.

Still, Grayson manages to parade himself around like an open book and function with some semblance of control. This Black Canary, meddling and patronising though she may be, is qualified on such matters and even she is informing him to rethink how he manages his head. He won’t act on the advice, he has too much pride in his own convictions for that, but he will reluctantly allow it to board, let it ferment for a while in further thought. Perhaps there’s something valuable to be extracted from all this emotional indulgence and soppiness yet.

“One final question then, Robin, before I let you go.” She says, folding her hands one on top of each other in her lap. “Your Batman… It is clear you trust and admire him a great deal.”

“I never said that…” Damian grumbles. Not in so many words. Black Canary smiles indulgently.

“Of course not. I’m a therapist, it’s what I’ve gleaned. I suppose in which case the only question left to ask is if- no, when, we return you to him and your own world, will you be happy?”

There’s a beat of silence. Canary looks ardent and caring, leaning forward as if his answer to this question is the most important thing in the world.

Ah, Damian realises a little too late. This wasn’t a battle at all, or if it was he had entered the pre-determined victor. Black Canary, in a patronising, soft-hearted and utterly maudlin way really does just want Damian Wayne, Robin, son of Batman, retired deadly assassin and inter-dimensional fugitive to be happy. The sheer silliness of it is both a little ridiculous and very relieving.

“I mean is he giving you a childhood, taking care of you.” Black Canary presses, a little indelicately when she sees that he hasn’t responded, clearly worried the simply inquiry has thrust him into some throe of angst. “I can’t imagine Robin wouldn’t make a wonderful big brother but he took you in so soon after Batman died and-”

“You are a very intelligent woman.” Damian cuts her off and is pleased to watch her jaw drop. The sight makes him grin, a proper wide grin with teeth. “That is what makes it so disappointing that you insist on being so gullible. If I was still an assassin, and you have little besides my word and a flimsy DNA link to the model of mental health Bruce Wayne to prove otherwise, I could have killed you several times during this interview. Be glad I am a reformed man.” He rises to his feet and rubs his hands together.

Black Canary’s mouth has shut and she appears to have recovered admirably quickly. “I think you’ve given me the answer I need. I’m sure you’ve been told you smile just like him.”

“By everyone.” Damian agrees. “All the time.”

“It’s a little eerie, actually. Robin,” The expression on her face softens to something warm and dangerously perceptive. “I’m sure he misses you just as much as you miss him.”

Damian meets her eyes for one level moment before tutting away the comment. “You shrinks and your emotional frippery.” He barely suppresses a yawn, surprised and grudgingly impressed by how mentally taxing the past half an hour has been. “Now if you don’t mind, I have no intention of falling asleep at my post tomorrow. Good night.”

“Good night, Robin!” She calls after him. “Find me when you get home. And you’re never too grown up for a proper cry!”

He scoffs but feels his lips twitch again. When he returns to his room, he’s still smiling until he spots his communicator perched abandoned on the bed, a lonely vessel amongst the vast pale swathes of sheet. His fingers twitch to pick it up. For some reason he feels a strange compulsion to listen to Grayson’s message again which means somehow one therapy session has installed in him a strange propensity for masochism or has really made him miss his partner that much. For whatever reason, with a sigh and a full heart, he goes to pick up the communicator.

And notices something he hadn’t before. The toolbar at the top of the screen informs him that something else has downloaded onto the device, something within the encrypted folder only he can access. It’s protected by five different number and letter passcodes that even Grayson doesn’t know and can only be accessed remotely by either Damian himself or another bat-coded communicator.

His breath hitches. He desperately, desperately doesn’t want to get his hopes up but it’s as if someone has filled his chest with helium and it’s already floating up, up, up out of his reach.

He has never before had cause to fill the folder and for a terrible moment his shaking fingers can’t seem to figure out the passcodes he inputted a year ago. Luckily muscle memory kicks in and a few seconds later his eyes are boring into an audio file titled with an innocuous colon and bracket combo: a smiley face. There is only one possible person who would go to all the trouble of hacking into his communicator a parallel universe away and leave a file labelled with a smiley face.

He swallows thickly and presses play.

“Hey, little D.”

Damian has to immediately pause the recording and take a deep, grounding breath lest he suffer the indignity of breaking down at the sound of Grayson’s voice. The warmth and familiarity in his tone, that stupid, stupid nickname, is such a sharp contrast from the cool, controlled voice of Batman. That, he supposes, had offered its own comfort but it is not what he needs to hear right now. It is Grayson’s voice, his brother’s voice only for lack of a better, deeper word, that he needs to hear right now.

He hits play again.

“I hope you find this. I really hope you’re okay. I’ve got so much I want to say to you but I know you wouldn’t appreciate me getting all sappy so I’ll keep it short. Please, _please_ stay safe. Don’t worry about saving the world without me, I need you to keep yourself alive until I get there. I don’t care how many rules you have to break or toes you have to step on or, heck, people you have to stab just please protect yourself first. It’s all hands on deck back here in Gotham. Tim’s been working non-stop on that machine and even Jason’s come home and it’s all because we want to see you back in one piece. We need our Robin. I need my Robin. So do whatever it takes to get to that machine at midnight and we’ll do whatever it takes to meet you there.”

“I’m not leaving without you but I really don’t want to end up trapped in a parallel universe so try not to be late. For one thing, I am not letting Jason be Batman again. Who else could do it? Tim? No-

“Cass.” Damian says in time with the recording and can’t suppress the wet giggle that erupts from him. He doesn’t know when he started crying. He can’t seem to stop.

“Either way, it just wouldn’t look good would it, four Batmen in less than two years? I don’t know what I’m saying, bud, I really miss you. I love you. I know you’re making me proud. Batman out.”

The audio comes to a halt. Damian lets out a not entirely unhappy sob and doesn’t try and reel it back in. It’s catharsis, he insists to himself, it’s _healthy_.

It feels good to cry for the first time in seven years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as per drop a kudos and let me know if my writing has really decreased in quality during the break because it feels like it has oof :/  
> thank you so much for all your lovely comments i wish i could respond to each and every one of them but then we'd end up with a hiatus as long as the last one :((  
> i am genuinely so grateful with everyone who's stuck with this fic and the love you all continue to show it; it means a lot to me and really keeps me motivated  
> y'all are so sweet and so incredible THANK YOU xx


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian addresses the team and receives just a little closure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so remote schooling has been kicking my ASS, i had remote assessments which near killed me and the world continues to move in a direction that makes me wish i too was in an alternate dimension  
> YA GOT IT EASY DAMIAN  
> (that was a joke, no he doesn't)  
> but you guys don't want my excuses, here's the chapter!! written in bits and pieces across the span of a month!!!

When he awakens well-rested and with a gentle hand on his shoulder, Damian immediately knows something is wrong.

It is only a violent, last-second spurt of rational thought that prevents him from viciously judo-flipping the person touching him into the ground. Instead he latches onto the wrist with enough force to elicit a yelp and sits up on his bed, blade in his free hand and eyes squinting to make out the aggressor in the dim light.

It is only Artemis and she swears spectacularly as she wrenches away her hand, a sentiment Damian entirely shares.

“Where’s Robin?” He opens with and then registers the non-essential nature of this question. “What time is it? Have the League located the Light’s base?”

“It’s breakfast time.” Is all Artemis says in response. “Am I not going to get an apology?”

Her obtuseness makes him sigh and check his communicator, disturbed to find that it’s already 8 AM. “Why did no one wake me?”

“Kid, we all woke up like…10 minutes ago.” Artemis gives a prolonged yawn and rubs her eyes blearily. She’s wearing her civilian clothes, a grey t-shirt and blue jeans with natural looking frayed edges and holes. “Wally’s only raided half the fridge. It’s practically the early hours.”

“I normally wake up at sunrise.” Damian mutters to himself a little wonderingly. It’s a strict habit no encouragements of a weekend lie-in from Grayson have been able to break. “Perhaps because we’re in the mountain?”

“Or perhaps because you’ve been conked on the head half a dozen times in the space of two days?” Artemis suggests, beginning to look impatient. “Just put the stabber away and come get some pancakes before my idiot boyfriend makes himself sick.”

Damian complies, sliding his knife back into his boot, but can’t help his nose from wrinkling at the word ‘boyfriend’. She begins to offer him a hand up from the bed but then seems to remember what happened the last time she touched him and withdraws it sheepishly. They walk in step to the rec room and as Damian’s head catches up with his body, the events of the previous day begin to creep back into the forefront of his mind. It had been a shocking and grievous turn of events for everyone and he wonders how the wide-eyed rambunctious sidekicks have taken the barrage of bitter revelations.

The rec room is perversely silent. The superhero team are nothing but a huddle of hunched shoulders and as Damian and Artemis approach, he can feel the heavy mien of grief in the air hovering like a cloud. M’gann has only slightly burnt the pancakes but the teenagers still pick at their food; all besides Kid Flash who is shovelling down breakfast as if he has something to fill. Judging from the Robin-sized lacuna at his side, he does. Every few seconds, M’gann will miserably slide another pancake onto his plate and then blow her nose weepily.

She does the same for Artemis and Damian when they pull up a chair, but when she attempts to offer the latter a forced smile it all appears to be too much for her. She sobs and instantly tries to smother it but when Superboy stands and wraps her in his clumsy arms, she breaks down completely. Her other teammates awkwardly observe. Damian stabs his fork into his pancake.

It’s his father’s funeral all over again, an inescapable outpouring of grief he cannot share in. Having to sit through it the first time had been discomfiting; now it’s annoying. 

“Pull yourself together.” He says darkly and meets the appalled gazes fired his way impassively. “You knew my father less than I did, and that’s saying something. What will you miss about him? His disapproving glares?”

“I’m aware we may not have known Batman well,” Kaldur says disapprovingly. “But it’s common decency to feel regret at the death of such a great man. M’gann is merely displaying compassion.”

“He isn’t even dead yet!” Damian snaps, repulsed by the holier-than-thou attitude even whilst he doubts Kaldur’s faking it. “He’s probably watching us over the security cameras as we speak or off somewhere plotting contingencies to cheat death. Any minute now he’ll come creeping around the corner and give us a lecture on the sanctity of life.” To his amusement, Kid Flash turns his head towards the doorway as if Batman is actually going to appear.

Before Kaldur can embark on his own lecture, likely on respecting ones elders or the magic of friendship, M’gann lets out a cry of frustration so sudden that Kid Flash drops his fork. It slowly drowns in syrup but he ignores it in favour of gaping at M’gann, slack-jawed.

“Both of you stop it.” She orders, wiping her eyes resolutely. “I don’t think I can stand it if we start fighting now.”

The shock of her miraculous nerve renders them all speechless. Damian didn’t know she had it in her and he’s privately, grudgingly a little impressed.

Kaldur appears appropriately cowed. “You’re right, M’gann. And Robin has a point.” He frowns and lowers his eyes. When he next speaks, his voice is grave. “Any sorrow we might be feeling is nothing compared to what he and our Robin must be experiencing.”

Damian opens his mouth to object, not feeling remotely sorrowful, but a sudden pang in his chest stops him. The heroes have respectfully averted their eyes, identical expressions of quiet empathy on each face. It isn’t pity. They aren’t feeling sorry for him; they’re just _feeling_ for him, as if they can somehow take on some of the burden of pain just by recognising it.

No one except Grayson or Alfred has thought to feel for him in a long time and even though he isn’t grieving, it amplifies a stronger bone-weariness that pulses through his ribs. A little bit of therapy and a good night’s sleep have not erased the physical and emotional pain and weariness of the past few days. If anything, they have left him feeling more vulnerable and raw. He has been practically flayed in front of these people and every time they’ve been faced by his fury or grief or pain, they’ve simply taken a bit of it on themselves.

“We shouldn’t be crying or fighting.” He forces out eventually, with an air of compromise to cover up how deeply he has been touched by their naïve adoption. “We should be discussing how to prevent the Light’s dimensional domination.”

“The League has practically scoured Europe for this base.” Kid Flash says, digging his fork out of the syrup and licking it clean. Damian tuts in disgust. “No luck, but they think they’ve found a way to disable the machines.”

That makes Damian perk up: a development. “Is that so? How?”

“Goes straight over my head.” Superboy grunts and Kid Flash grants him a condescending smile.

“As do most things, my brawny friend.” He claps him on the shoulder. “But I’ll keep it simple. Batman thinks they can lay a series of cables to siphon off the nuclear power of the devices long enough to neutralise them. If we can decrease the energy output, physically disabling them and isolating the nuclear core should be a piece of cake. Of course, we don’t know how many there are or where they are… but yeah, aside from that, piece of cake.”

“In theory it should work.” Damian says. “But it’ll likely require the speedsters and Martians’ full attention to lay the cables and redirect the power and countless other heroes to secure the cores and disable the machines.”

“No one’s saying it’s a flawless plan.” Artemis agrees, kicking her legs onto the table. “But it’s the best we’ve got on short notice. Plus, everyone’s calling in a bunch of super-powered favours. We should have a small army of heroes on our side. Last time it was just us up against the Light and we kicked their butts.”

This elicits a few hopeful chuckles and smiles. The miserable cloud above them is beginning to disperse and Damian feels guilty that he has to re-invoke it.

“And Robin?” He says hesitantly and sure enough the cheerful mood evaporates.

“He disappeared with Batman last night.” Kid Flash says, swirling the syrup on his plate unhappily. “No one’s heard from him since. He…well, he still seemed pretty upset last I saw of him.”

Damian nods and impetuously spears a piece of pancake, chews and swallows. It tastes like nothing and seems to thicken into glue in his mouth. He can’t tell if that’s the result of M’gann’s cooking or if even his taste buds recognise the food as foreign, know he’s out of place.

“Robin as Batman.” Superboy says a little awkwardly and Damian feels a sharp defensiveness rear its head. Luckily, he follows it up with a sheepish smile. “Anyone else can’t picture it?” The rest of the sidekicks chuckle appreciatively.

“I certainly can’t.” Artemis admits. “I mean, don’t get me wrong he’s a genius. Definite runner-up for world’s greatest detective. I just can’t picture him punching a bad guy without making a joke about it, let alone running around in the goth-ensemble.”

This particularly tickles Kaldur who chokes on a piece of pancake and spends the next minute coughing up syrup, much to his teammates’ amusement.

“I knew it was him as soon as I knew it wasn’t our Bats though.” Kid Flash insists, once Kaldur has been appropriately resuscitated. “No one can do a Batman impression like Rob. He used to have me in stitches when we’d patrol alone.” He puts on his own gravelly voice and mimes wrapping himself in a cloak. “Kid Flash, your footwork is sloppy, you’re a disgrace to the Justice League. Drop and give me twenty and then buy me twenty jam donuts.”

Now the rest of them are in stitches too and even Damian can’t supress a smile, albeit at the poorness of the mimicry.

“When he first adopted the cowl,” He shares, a little haltingly but with more confidence when the others urge him on. “Half the off-world Leaguers didn’t find out about it until a year later when he pulled out a bowl of cereal on a video call. Their expressions were priceless. They thought he was possessed.”

This inspires the biggest round of hilarity yet. Damian somehow finds it funnier than he did at the time when he’d accused his partner of being unprofessional. “That’s so Robin!” M’gann wheezes, doubled over in mid-air. “He’s always doing things like that on tense stakeouts. Some things don’t change!”

It’s a comforting sentiment and for a moment they just wrap themselves in it, don’t think of anything else as they finally tuck into the mediocre pancakes with the gusto they deserve. Once Damian’s plate is emptied, however, he finds himself faced by a far more daunting task.

“Where’s Batman?” he asks to a resounding silence and several awkward, hesitant looks. Damian rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to fight him or even start an argument, if I can help it. I want access to the files we took from the Mongolian base. Perhaps a fresh pair of eyes can help find this base.”

“I believe he’s monitoring the League’s progress from the computer.” Kaldur says reluctantly. “But Robin, are you sure-”

“I said I won’t pick a fight.” Damian reminds him, swinging out of his chair. “We’re supposed to be defeating the Light in less than two days’ time, I can’t avoid him forever.”

Besides, he thinks privately, what do I have to be afraid of? He has already stated that as long as his father acknowledges him as Robin, they need not muddy their working relationship by attempting to view each other as father and son. Batman himself has also stated he will not attempt to interfere with his upcoming death. As long as Batman has not undergone some miraculous transformation overnight and suddenly wants to talk about feelings, there is nothing to prevent them from interacting civilly and efficiently.

***

Batman wants to talk about feelings.

Damian finds him where Kaldur promised he would be: a cloaked, black silhouette against the glowing computer screen. Every now and again he’ll raise a finger and swipe away a tab, enlarge a document, send a coded message. Although he doesn’t show it, Damian knows he knows he’s there the second he sets foot in the door. Neither of them acknowledge each other’s presence until Damian is standing by his father’s side, watching the operation of his indefatigable genius with a weary familiarity.

A flashing pop-up from the Flash states that eastern Latvia was a bust and Batman grumbles, shooting back a scalding imperative to start scanning the south.

“That was harsh.” Damian observes coolly.

Batman opens his mouth as if about to scald him too but then elects to close it with another grumble. That’s new.

“You shouldn’t be so impatient. The entire globe is a lot of ground to cover.” Damian continues and though he can see Batman’s jaw clenching with irritation, he doesn’t respond to that obvious bait either. “You should stop grinding your teeth too. You’ll need dentures by 40-”

“The files.” Batman grunts, interrupting him.

Damian looks at him in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“The ones you took from Mongolia.” Batman says again, slowly and grindingly as if every word pains him. It’s certainly painfully awkward. “Would you… Look at them. They could use a fresh pair of eyes.”

“I’m sure.” Damian says suspiciously. What exact game is his father playing? “That’s why I came looking for you.”

“Here.” His father grunts again. He passes Damian a USB which he plugs into his own device. He’s so engrossed with the information it takes him a moment to register that Batman is still staring at him.

“Do I have some syrup on my face?” He asks sharply, a little impatient that Batman is not acting like an unemotional, efficient robot the one time Damian needs him to.

“No.” His father responds and then actually sighs before saying something Damian had thought he would never hear: “I’m sorry.”

All the blood rushes from his face and he immediately feels queasy. “No.”

Perhaps Batman thinks he’s misheard him, because he frowns and repeats himself. “I’m sorry.”

“What on earth are you doing?” Damian demands, backing away.

Batman frowns again, even more stonily. “I’m apologising.”

“I know _that_.” Damian says, aware that his voice is now shaking and he’s probably gone green. “Stop it.”

“I mean it. I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that!” He snaps. He’s tempted to throw up a cross with his fingers because Batman must be possessed. “I don’t know what you want from me, but if you don’t stop playing twisted mind-games, I’ll leave the mountain and find the Light’s base on my own. Don’t think I won’t.”

“I’m sure you would.” Batman says. “I have been…overzealous in my suspicion towards you. That has given you little motivation to work with us. Hence why I’m apologising.”

Slowly, Damian lowers his guard. There’s something about the guiltiness of his pauses, the diffidence of his frowns, that makes him begin to understand what’s going on. “You spoke to Alfred, didn’t you?”

A little of Batman’s familiar steeliness returns. “Agent A.”

“Yes, yes, Lord Paranoia.” Damian dismisses. He squints at his father. There’s no doubt. It’s the cowed, almost childlike behaviour that tips him off. There’s only one person who can hold Batman truly morally culpable like this. “Agent A told you to apologise.”

There’s a grumpy, stubborn face-down, Wayne-glare on Wayne-glare. Luckily, Damian is one part 12 year-old boy and another 80 year-old man: no one does stubborn grumpiness like him. Batman is forced to relent.

“He may have advised it.” He concedes and Damian would mock him if he weren’t himself so uncomfortable.

“I’d really rather you didn’t.” Is all he says. “For one thing, I’m not going to forgive you. For another, it’s just disturbing.”

Batman nods and the uncomfortable silence resumes. Damian can’t help glancing at his father’s profile every now and again, a habit of eager observation he’s yet to break. Batman looks focused and harsh but also tired like Damian: neither of them are made for complicated emotional minefields. He’s still grinding his teeth, a mannerism that generally denotes frustration and anxiety: one motive for each Robin, Damian sardonically supposes. Only that makes him think of Robin and it takes all his willpower not to demand to know where he is, how he can contact him.

Again, he finds himself distracted enough by his thoughts that he’s neglecting his research. Mentally hitting himself, he buries himself back into the maniacal ravings on the screen in front of him. The chaotic, rambling prose was clearly written by Klarion and his strange and abrupt changes of topic and inadequate footnotes are enough to induce a headache. No wonder Batman wanted a fresh pair of eyes.

It appears the base they invaded in Mongolia was mainly focused on research, combining alien and human technology. Klarion is perhaps deliberately vague about which exact alien it was that supplied the technology; or at least Damian hopes it’s deliberate because if not, it is humiliating that a villain so inept is such a major threat to the Justice League. The size of arsenal in this one base, however, is worrying, since there could be dozens more all converging on one headquarters. Might the League be overwhelmed by sheer number?

Batman clears his throat and Damian lets a long sigh out through his nostrils. Clearly the years have had some hardening effect on the father Damian knew because this one is displaying an persistence and naivety that discomforts him. Just because my father appears to have a change of heart about abusing my privacy and trust, it doesn’t make him a different man, he reminds himself.

Still, he grants him a terse “What?” and waits for the next clumsy, belated attempt at connection.

“I shouldn’t have shouted at Robin.”

Damian feels his shoulders coil. “On that we agree.”

“He has been… rebellious recently. Claiming maturity whilst he continues to take risks and act like a child.”

Damian resists the urge to snort derisively. “He _is_ a child. He’s fourteen. He’s going to be stupid and irresponsible and secretive. It’s called puberty.” It doesn’t escape him, the irony of him explaining the effects of adolescence to his own father. When he’s being so awkward and obtuse, however, he cannot help himself.

When Batman doesn’t respond to that, Damian plunges onward. “From what I can tell, he’s at the beginning of his ‘angst’ phase. He’ll return to the nest eventually, agreeable and chirpy as ever.” This is something he does resent about Grayson, the way his Teen Titans years immediately gave way to his 8-year-old unflinching obedience to Batman again after Jason’s death. He claims he had pushed his pride aside in favour of supporting the man to whom he owed everything but Damian doesn’t like that description. He’d pushed aside more than his pride: his own team, achievements and reputation had all been foregone in favour of bending over backwards to once more be the perfect son to the man who’d given away his first hero identity. It is not an insult Damian would have been able to stand.

His discontented brooding must have shown on his face because Batman doesn’t say any more until he’s emerged from his thoughts. Only then does he say, a little wonderingly, a little grumblingly, “You’re twelve, is that correct?”

Damian tries so hard not to preen at the slim admiration in his tone and nearly succeeds. “You grow up fast in the League of Assassins.”

“I appreciate your reassurances about Robin.” Batman continues. “They have not been entirely without effect. I believe… you appear to think a lot of him. He might benefit from talking to you.”

“Where is he?” Damian asks, swallowing the urgency in his chest.

“There’s a gym on the second floor with acrobatics equipment.” Batman says and that’s all Damian needs to hear. He wants to go right now but something tells him that instinct is wrong. If he confronts Robin whilst wound up, they’ll probably only fight again. Instead, he resigns himself to ploughing through the remains of this report first. Hopefully the focus needed to sort through Klarion’s nonsensical muck will benefit him.

Batman, however, doesn’t appear to be finished. “I’m glad you have Robin.”

Damian hums noncommittally, the sincerity in his father’s tone making his stomach squirm. He’s read the word ‘charitable donation’ five times over but the words don’t seem to sink in.

“I’m glad Robin has you.”

Damian’s mouth is dry and he has to swallow several times before he gets the next words out. “He does.” His voice is raspy and he tries again. “We’re partners.”

“I’m glad.” Batman repeats, voice solemn and grave. That resignation is back, that same resignation with which he’d spoken to Robin, but this time it sounds less regretful and more at peace. He pauses. “And I am sorry.”

Three words aren’t enough to fix the past few days of suspicion and humiliation. Three words aren’t enough to fix months of coldness and mistrust. Three words aren’t enough to make up for a death that had left his son bitter and adrift, without enough kindness to even grieve.

They are enough to fill Damian with a sense of loss he’d hoped never to feel again: he has lost another opportunity to salvage something, _anything_ from his relationship with his father. He had died and Damian had given up on him and now that they’ve met again, in another dimension, he has been forced to give up on him a second time. It’s so disappointing that they continue to disappoint each other.

“I am sorry too.” He says, and means it. Perhaps all they can be now is glad it isn’t worse. Glad they haven’t destroyed each other. Glad that Batman still has Robin, and Damian still has Grayson. They’ll never have anything more.

It’d be an act of charity to just leave now, Damian thinks, and then wonders where that particular phrasing came from. He stares down into the text in front of him, eyes scanning over dreary complaints about the weather and focusing on the line that’s niggling at his subconscious, awakening his deductive instincts.

_“And thanks to our many charitable donations, it’ll be a piece of cake to slice into the multiverse. The League won’t be expecting us to kill them with kindness!”_

To anyone else it would read like the writing of a madman but Damian recognises the method in the madness, the order in the chaos.

“Nightlight.” He says aloud.

Batman frowns at him. “What was that?”

“The charity the Light have been using to pickpocket Metropolis billionaires.” Damian explains, opening his browser and searching for the website. “They’ve got a list of a dozen countries where they operate. And their centre of operations is… here.”

“The Australian outback.” Batman says, realisation dawning in his voice.

“The Light were so confident in their ability to hide in plain sight that they’ve given away their headquarters.” Damian cackles, triumphant and devoid of mercy. The Light knows the cold logic of Batman but they couldn’t have accounted for him and his ruthless, business-like attitude; his single-minded focus on returning home. Damian Wayne-Al Ghul is an anal hardass who doesn’t miss a trick and as sentimental as it may be, he fully intends to desecrate some corpses.

“That is some excellent detective work.” Batman says and his lips twitch into an almost smile. As soon as the expression appears, it’s gone and he’s contacting League members, inputting co-ordinates to the satellite, maybe ordering some extra anti-kangaroo spray for the utility belts. Damian has stopped paying attention.

For the first time in a long time, he feels like Robin again. Now it’s time to find his Batman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd rather you signed the following petitions than left a kudos:  
> https://www.change.org/p/mayor-jacob-frey-justice-for-george-floyd  
> https://www.change.org/p/andy-beshear-justice-for-breonna-taylor  
> https://www.change.org/p/district-attorney-tom-durden-justice-for-ahmaud-arbery-i-run-with-maud  
> https://www.runwithmaud.com/  
> https://www.change.org/p/govia-thameslink-justice-for-belly-mujinga-justiceforbellymujinga  
> https://www.change.org/p/us-senate-hands-up-act  
> https://blacklivesmatter.com/defundthepolice/  
> there are too many to list but please seek out more  
> all cops are bastards and black lives matter


End file.
